


What's Happening to Me?

by SlayerFest98



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 32,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlayerFest98/pseuds/SlayerFest98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a few months since Sherlock has come back from the dead and John is noticing somethings different about his flatmate and begins to wonder what exactly happened to the Detective while he was away. When Sherlock's health takes a turn for the worse, John makes it his mission to find out what is wrong with Sherlock Holmes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Johnlock fic so comments would be lovely! I am enjoying writing this story so I hope you enjoy reading it :)

It’s been a month or two since Sherlock came back from the dead. He explained to me that he had had to hunt down the rest of Moriarty’s followers so he had to go into hiding but I knew he was hiding something else from me.

Over the last few weeks, Sherlock had been acting very out of character. I saw him in the kitchen trying to pour himself some tea but his hands were shaking so badly that he spilt hot water all over the counter.

There have been numerous incidents like this over the last few weeks, Sherlock would drop things from his hands shaking too much, his eyes would glaze over and he would become distant for fractions of a second before coming back to reality, or play his violin much sloppier than normal, small things that most people wouldn't notice; but I did.

He’d been having nightmares for weeks, I knew he had. I could sometimes hear him yelling in his sleep but every time I’d go to his door to check on him, the room would fall quiet.

One time I was so close to entering his bedroom when the door slammed right in my face. I took that as a hint that he wanted to me to stop worrying about him and creeping to his door in the middle of the night.

Everyday his face looked more drawn and gaunt from exhaustion. I tried to talk to him about it but he always shut himself off as soon as I got close to making any progress in obtaining some indication of what was going on.

He hadn't been eating, which granted isn't unusual for Sherlock, but he stood up from his armchair one day and swayed dangerously, all the blood draining from his face. For his body to betray him like that was another very bad sign.

His clothes were getting too big for him and I am sure he has been suffering from malnutrition for a very long time. I even caught him smoking again, which was another indication that this was extremely serious and was obviously not getting any better. In fact, if anything, he was getting worse.

I walked past the bathroom on my way from my bedroom to the kitchen one morning when I heard a noise coming from the within. It was barely audible so I had to press my ear to the door to hear clearly what it was.

I could hear crying. Sherlock Holmes was crying. I could hear him sobbing over the noise of the shower and that was when I knew something was very, very wrong. I knocked on the door and asked, “Sherlock? Are you okay in there?”

I got no answer but I did hear lots of sniffling and muffled sobs, as though he had put his hand over his face to stop me from hearing him. I knocked again and when still no reply was given, I decided to open the door just a fraction to check on him.

I looked in and could see his tall shape behind the shower curtain; he was leaning against the wall and letting the jets of water shoot directly onto his head. I said his name once more but before I could say anything else, Sherlock spoke up, “I’m fine John! Just leave me alone!”

His voice was strained and I could tell that he was trying to convince himself as much as me that he was fine. I closed the door but stayed outside for a little longer and I could hear his deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

I knew I wasn't going to get anything out of him while he was in denial so I let him be and went about my routine for work, but all the while, still worrying about Sherlock in the back of my mind.

It was after this incident that I knew there was something seriously wrong, but when this post-traumatic stress got so serious that it started affecting Sherlock’s work, that’s when I got really worried (not that I wasn't already before but…). I got so desperate that I even considered calling Mycroft but I quickly dismissed that idea and although I desperately wished for a solution to help him get better, I never expected the solution to turn out quite like it did…


	2. Chapter 2

We were at a crime scene and Sherlock was standing over the body of a woman, looking around her dingy flat for clues. She had been brutally stabbed and there was blood everywhere. Even I, who had seen this kind of thing before as an army doctor, felt slightly sick at the sight.

Usually, Sherlock is not phased by gruesome sights but as soon as he laid eyes on the woman, I knew there was something terribly wrong.

His eyes glazed over as if he was remembering something and then his hands started to shake. His breathing became rapid and irregular, sweat was forming on his brow and his face paled. I instantly knew what was happening to him because the same thing had happened to me after Afghanistan; he was having a flashback.

“Sherlock?” I asked cautiously. No reply. I went and stood in front of him, saying his name again.

He then snapped out of it and staggered back a few steps, “Fine! I’m… fine,” he said before I even asked him anything. “I need some air…”

He staggered out of the flat, pushing past Anderson and Sally as he went. I looked after him as he went, and I dimly recall Greg telling Sally and Anderson off after they had made some snide comments about the consulting detective, telling them to leave him alone.

I was tempted to follow him but I had a feeling that doing so would only make matters worse, so I let him go.

“What was that all about?” Greg asked quietly so as not to attract the attention of the others. Lestrade knew better than to discuss Sherlock’s mental state in front of everyone from Scotland Yard.

“I can’t explain it here but I’ll tell you once we’re done,” I said just as quietly.

After Greg had finished at the crime scene, we went out to a coffee shop and I told him all about Sherlock’s behaviour over the past weeks. He was just as worried as me but had no ideas as to what could have happened to him for the detective to be acting this way.

“He shouldn’t be working cases if he’s suffering as much as you say,” Greg said.

“I know, but Sherlock is so stubborn that he won’t admit anything’s wrong with him let alone stop working,” I replied.

Greg nodded in agreement, “I guess we’ll just have to keep a close eye on him then.”

 

We kept an eye on him for the next day and a half until another body was found, almost identical to the last. I had thought about trying to convince him to leave this one alone, but I knew even before I said anything that such an attempt would be futile.

When we arrived at the victim’s apartment, Greg and I exchanged looks, knowing that Sherlock was only a hair’s breadth from losing it completely. As soon as he arrived at the crime scene, he was agitated; he kept blinking and shaking his head as if his vision was impaired, he was trying to conceal his shaking hands by stuffing them in his pockets and his breathing was faster than normal.

He looked around the body and this time there was not so much blood. He turned to Lestrade and said, “She’s been moved. Where was she originally?”

The fact that Sherlock had to ask at all was an indication that he was not at the top of his game.

“She was tied up over here,” Greg said, indicating a chair with nasty looking chains draped over it. When Sherlock saw this he stopped in his tracks and looked even worse than before.

I recognised the same symptoms as before; he was having another flashback but this one was a lot more severe. Sherlock was shaking so badly that his knees buckled under him and he crumpled to all fours.

Greg cleared everyone away as I rushed to Sherlock’s side. His eyes were clamped shut and he was making small whimpering noises. I tried to get his attention; I shook him gently and called his name but he didn’t respond.

He was in this state for about a minute, and once Greg had cleared the scene, he stood over us, looking extremely concerned. I was trying to remain calm but my own anxiety levels where threatening to skyrocket out of control.

All of a sudden, Sherlock looked around dazedly and I could tell by his glazed eyes that he was not fully with us yet. So I took this opportunity to ask him what he was seeing.

“Sherlock, it’s okay, what happened?”

He was hesitant in answering but he seemed to recognise me so he eventually said, “I couldn’t see anything, it was dark, I was back there… and then I was on the floor… Why is everything fuzzy and spinning?”

Sherlock grabbed the sides of his head and groaned before saying, “Why won’t it stop spinning?”

“Shhhhh, is alright, it will stop, don’t worry,” I rubbed a soothing hand over his back and he started looking even paler than before.

“Uh, Greg? I think he’s going to be sick, can you help me get him outside so he doesn’t contaminate the crime scene?” Before I had even finished the sentence, Greg was at Sherlock’s side and we hauled him out of the apartment and into a neighboring alleyway where Sherlock threw up what little he had in his stomach.

I sat by him, continuously rubbing his back and making soothing sounds. Once he had stopped retching, Lestrade gave him a bottle of water and he drank it gratefully but soon after this, Sherlock was fully back with us.

“Yes, thank you for your assistance but… I need to leave… now…” and with that, Sherlock was off, staggering around the corner of the alley.

I glanced at Greg and he shrugged at me, so I decided to run after Sherlock and found him in an alleyway, leaning against a wall and breathing heavily on a cigarette. I quickly dodged back around the corner of the alley. This was really not good.

I went back to the crime scene as Greg was inside once more and told him what I had discovered.

“Shit,” he said. “What do you think set him off this time?”

I looked around to see what had made Sherlock freak out like that when I saw them; chains.


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure the chains were what made him do that?” Greg asked when we were back in his office at Scotland Yard the next morning.

“There was nothing else it could be!” I cried. I then had a thought, “You know, I grabbed him by the wrist the other day and he winced as if he was in pain.” I shrugged my shoulders as if that was evidence enough.

“Well, you need to find out what happened to him. If it was something so horrible that it’s affecting him like this…” he left the rest of that sentence hanging in the air.

At that moment, Sherlock burst through the door, “I know who killed them. It was the cleaning lady!”

He stopped and looked between the two of us. I could practically see the cogs in his head turning as he deduced everything about what we had been talking about. He laughed humourlessly, “You’re both worried about me.”

It wasn’t a question that much was obvious but I couldn’t quite get a read on why he was wearing that expression on his perfectly sculpted face; it was bitter and angry… and dark. He took a step towards us.

“I’m fine,” he said this with such venom that I was completely taken aback. He turned on his heel and moved to leave.

I got up and grabbed his arm to prevent him. When my hand landed on his forearm he shied away with such severity that he jumped back and stumbled into Lestrade’s filing cabinet with a crash.

I put up my hands in an attempt to calm him down, as you would with a scared animal. That is probably the most apt description of Sherlock at that moment; he was cowering against the filing cabinet, breathing heavily, and eyes angled at the floor, staring unblinkingly.

“Hey, it’s okay Sherlock. You’re okay, I’m here, you’re safe,” I said, slowly edging towards him. As I approached, I saw him trembling and looking even paler than normal. I was only a foot or so away from him, still murmuring comforting words to him when I saw it.

I stopped dead in my tracks before reaching up to Sherlock’s neck where his scarf had come lose. I gently pulled his scarf off entirely and pushed his collar down.

“Jesus Christ!” Greg exclaimed; he had moved closer to Sherlock when I had taken off his scarf.

All around his neck was a light pinkish scar along with various small cuts. I rested my hand on his shoulder and tried to steady myself. I felt sick to my stomach. What the hell had happened to him in those three years?

“Sherlock, what caused this?” I asked, but I already had a feeling what had done the damage.

Sherlock didn’t look at me, just answered plainly, “Shock collar…” He then seemed to realise what he had said and, grabbing his scarf, pushed passed me with more strength than I expected him to possess in his current state. He stormed straight out of Greg’s office without looking back, tying his scarf back around his neck.

Greg made to go after him put I stopped him gently, “No, I’ll take care of this. You go arrest the housekeeper.”

Greg looked confused for a moment, having forgotten about the case in the shock, but then nodded, “Good luck, John and be careful.”

With that, he walked out of his office and started ordering people around, preparing for the arrest. I left Scotland Yard and caught a cab to Baker Street. I hadn’t expected Sherlock to be there and sure enough he wasn’t.

I made myself a mug of coffee and sat in my armchair, determined to wait for him to come home, however long it took.

 

I waited all day and pretty soon it was getting dark. Still I waited, I don’t know for how long, and still he did not return. I was extremely sore from sitting in my chair for so long, so for about the hundredth time that day, I got up and paced around the living room.

I found once more that pacing just made me worry about him, so I went over to the mantle where Sherlock’s skull friend was sitting and leaned against it. I tried to stretch and work out the kinks in my neck and back but after I had relieved almost no tension, I regarded the skull.

“I wish he would come home,” I said to it.

It just sat there, staring at me with a blank look. I then laughed to myself, “Look at me, I’m talking to a skull!”

I shook my head and sighed, resting my elbow on the mantle, “I just wish he would tell me what’s going on… I’m worried about him.”

When I got no reply once again, I staggered over to the couch and lay down on it. I lay there, counting the patterns on the wallpaper for a very long time and I was just beginning to drift off to sleep when I saw a silhouette at the top of the stairs.

I sat up, “Sherlock…” I began, but he turned and walked straight into his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

I sighed dejectedly and rolled over onto my side. My thoughts where whizzing around in my head for some time after that until I finally fell into a fitful sleep, filled with horrible dreams about how Sherlock had gotten that scar…


	4. Chapter 4

I was jerked awake by a terrible noise echoing through the flat. I sat up frantically and realised where the noises where coming from. I jumped up and rushed to Sherlock’s door and sure enough, I could hear him yelling and pleading in his sleep.

I opened the door quietly to see him tangled in his sheets, tossing and turning with the light from his bedside lamp shining off the cold sweat on his half naked body. I was unsure of what to do; if I woke him he would probably yell at me and shut me out, but at the same time I couldn’t leave him in this state.

Slowly, I approached his bed and sat down by his side. Gently, I took his hand in mine and squeezed softly, just so he knew I was there for him. I rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand in small, slow circles and sure enough, he calmed down slightly.

He was still breathing slightly irregularly and muttering incomprehensible things under his breath but the detective was more or less sleeping quietly.

I was just about to turn off the light when something, caught my eye. Several somethings. Several, horrible somethings. His porcelain flesh was covered with scars and welts, and his ribs were sticking out much more than were natural.

Sherlock’s burnt neck was prominent in the light, as where the ugly red scars around his wrists. There were small scars and cuts all over his abdomen and lower torso but the worst sight by far was the huge, albino-white scar running from his right clavicle, across his chest and finishing just below his left nipple.

The sight was such a shock that I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stop myself gasping in horror. Who could have done this to him? My Sherlock?

At that moment, Sherlock rolled over and grasped my hand with his other one and pulled me closer. I sat there for a moment, unsure as to how I should proceed. In the end, I decided to leave him alone to rest but as I tried to free my hand from Sherlock’s grasp, his eyes fluttered open.

I held my breath hoping that he wouldn’t freak out too much and as it turned out, his reaction wasn’t quite as drastic as I expected. He lay there for a moment, eyes looking me over as if to reassure himself that it was truly me, before letting go of my hand, sitting up and scooting over to the other side of the bed quickly.

“Sorry, John, I don’t know what I was doing…” he said, avoiding my gaze.

“Sherlock…” I interrupted quietly, “What happened? Please! Tell me! I can’t stand seeing you like this…”

Sherlock looked at me for a moment, his face blank, before averting his eyes and staring at the covers on his bed. I decided that a different tactic was in order; I got up and walked cautiously round to where Sherlock was sitting and perched on the side of the bed in front of him.

I didn’t say anything, I just sat there, waiting for him to deduce that I wasn’t leaving until I had the truth. He looked me over and sighed, running a hand through his midnight curls.

“Look, John, I’m very tired so can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No we can’t. I’m worried about you and I want to know what happened in those three years I thought you were dead,” I said, standing my ground.

He sat there for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a breath, “Sebastian Moran.”

Seeing my blank look, he lay back tiredly against the headboard of his bed and continued, “He’s one of Moriarty’s most loyal followers, his right hand man. When his master died, he decided to hunt me down and finish the job he started. Although, Moran had a very different method than Moriarty… as you can see.”

Sherlock gestured towards his body and all the scars that riddled his skin.

“How long…” I wasn’t even sure I wanted an answer to my question.

Sherlock smiled a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “A year and a half? Two years? Something like that. I spent a year hunting down Moriarty’s followers and even though I kept a low profile, eventually I got noticed. Moran found me and uh…”

Sherlock’s voice broke slightly and he cleared his throat. I could see his hands shaking so I covered one of his with my own, giving him my best warm and compassionate smile. I knew this had to be hard on him, but I also knew that he had to talk about it if he was going to get any better.

He took another breath and began again, “He drugged me with a tranquiliser gun and took me somewhere. I eventually found out that it was a basement of an abandoned house in the country. It wasn’t very stylish believe me…”

He trailed off again and I could see his eyelids drooping, he was obviously exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Sherlock really needed his sleep but at the same time, he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly until he overcame the past, so I pushed on.

“Can I look at your injuries? See if there will be any permanent damage?” I asked tentatively.

Sherlock looked at me wearily, “I suppose, if you must.”

So I scooted closer to Sherlock to take a better look at the marks on his skin. I reached out and gently took his wrists in my hands. His skin was cool and slightly clammy as I ran my fingers deftly over his wrists.

I could feel slight bumps on the bones of his wrists and could tell that they had been fractured at some point, then healed in a haphazard manner leaving slight lumps where the injury had been located.

Sherlock watched me examine his hands with a mixture of fascination and enrapture. He seemed to be spellbound by my nimble doctor’s fingers ghosting over his flesh. He seemed calmer whilst watching my fingers so I decided to take the plunge.

“Did he have you chained up?” I asked, still caressing his bony wrists gently.

He still seemed entranced by my careful petting of his wrists and answered without looking up at me, “He chained me to a wall and put a shock collar on me. If I ‘misbehaved’, then he would… punish me…”

He trailed off again but this time he seemed less like he was reliving the memory, and more because he was so focused on me that he seemed to not even realise what he was saying. I decided to move on.

I still held his right hand in my left but moved my other hand up to his neck to look at the burn marks more closely. He flinched again slightly but this time it was only small and he let me continue to gently run my fingers over his scars.

“These will go away eventually, with time and the proper treatment…” I said, running the back of my fingers gently over the burn on his neck, “There might be some scar tissue but just small marks…”

This time it was my turn to trail off. Sherlock had closed his eyes and was leaning his head to one side, almost like a cat that was getting petted in its favourite spot. He hummed, whether in agreement or contentment I’m not sure.

As I moved on down his chest to look at the sickly pale scar, Sherlock leaned back slightly so I could take a better look at the damage. I traced the scar with my fingers gently and asked, “How did this happen?”

“When I escaped,” he said simply. I wanted to ask more but from his closed off expression I could tell I wasn’t going to get very far on that front tonight. I then saw that his left shoulder was slightly swollen.

I ran my hand over it and could tell that it had been dislocated. I guessed that was probably from the escape too but I didn’t say anything in case he closed up on me completely. I then moved down to his abdomen.

The smaller scars there looked old and mostly healed over. There were only a few that were very prominent but others had faded and were barely visible.

Then I spotted something I had missed before. On his left side, just above his hipbone, there was a large burn mark; it was in the shape of a circle with an ‘M’ inside it. I could guess what the ‘m’ stood for. Around the burn, there were also small scars, but these didn’t look like a knife, more like finger nails…

“What about this?” I asked gently, my fingers grazing over the scarred flesh.

Sherlock opened his eyes and watched my fingers again, “Moran got a bit excited when he found a branding iron…”

“No, I meant these,” I traced the small scars with my index finger.

“Oh,” he said with a tired sigh, “I tried to… well; I tried to… get it off.”

I nodded, that’s what I had feared. Sherlock had tried to claw the scar off his flesh with his bare hands. I tried to keep the horror off my face trying to keep my mask of calm in place. I began gently rubbing the area of red flesh but Sherlock whimpered and cowered away from my touch.

“Sometimes I look in the mirror… and I see it and… everything comes back,” he said, the haunted look came back into his eyes and his breathing began to become erratic and laboured again.

I squeezed the hand that I was holding and placed my other hand on his cheek, rubbing his porcelain face with my thumb, “Hey, it’s okay. Sherlock, look at me, you’re okay. Stay with me. You’re safe.”

Sherlock nodded and although the look didn’t leave his eyes, his breathing became less laboured and sporadic, “Sorry… I j-just… Oh god, I’m sorry…”

“Hey,” I said, trying to contain my uncertainty at hearing Sherlock stutter. “You don’t have to apologise for anything. Ever. Okay?”

Again, Sherlock nodded, “It’s just that… he…” Sherlock brought his hands to his head and pressed the base of his palms into his eyes, whimpering again and again. Then it hit me.

“Oh… Oh no… tell me he didn’t…”

When Sherlock didn’t respond, merely sat there breathing deeply, trying to get control of himself.

“Oh… Jesus…” I realised why he had jumped at my touch in that sensitive area. He had been sexually abused by Moran for god knows how long. I could hardly breathe. This was more than I could ever have imagined.

“Oh, Sherlock,” I sighed. I didn’t know what to say to him. What could I say that wouldn’t sound lame or insincere? So I did the only thing that I could think of. I shifted my position so I was on his other side and I draped an arm around him, pulling him closer to me.

He tensed momentarily before crumbling completely in my arms. He broke down, taking in heaving breaths as my shirt became damp with his silent tears. I then spotted marks on his back; long red marks criss-crossing the pale flesh, and I knew exactly how he got them. He was whipped as well.

I was on the verge of tears myself; this was just too much for me to handle. All of these things happened to the person I hold most dear in life and he was doing it to protect me? I couldn’t even process it.

Eventually Sherlock’s breathing became steadier and then slowed into an even rhythm. I scooted down on the bed, taking Sherlock with me and I lay there with him, holding him, stoking his black curls for the rest of the night. And for once, he didn’t have any nightmares.


	5. Chapter 5

I don’t remember when exactly I fell asleep but I woke the next morning to find the space in the bed next to me empty. I sat up and realised what had woken me in the first place. Music from Sherlock’s prized violin was floating in from the living room.

It started off as a peaceful melody and I found myself quite content to lie in my flat mate’s bed listening until it started to take a more disturbing turn. The notes became all minors, flats and sharps, and the way Sherlock was playing becoming more erratic and violent with each stroke of the bow.

Sherlock always poured his emotions into his music, meaning that with some practice, I can tell exactly what Sherlock is feeling through his compositions. I could tell he was getting more and more worked up just by listening to the intensity of his playing.

I decided that I needed to intervene before he got any more upset so I hastily (albeit somewhat reluctantly) jumped from the bed and crept out into the living room. I peered around the corner and saw Sherlock standing in his blue dressing gown by the mantel piece with his back to me. His movements were sporadic, bordering on violent as his music became increasingly frantic and sinister.

Approaching Sherlock and touching him would be a dangerous move as the consulting detective was completely engrossed in his music and would be threatened in his currently vulnerable state. I decided knocking was the safest bet.

Rapping on the door, I said loudly, “Sherlock?

He whirled around and stopped playing. The look in his eyes was akin to one of a child caught in the act of doing something they weren’t supposed to. He was only wearing his pyjama bottoms underneath his dressing gown and I could vaguely see the white scar on his flesh poking through the loose material.

“John…” Sherlock started. He closed his mouth and thought for a moment before saying hesitantly, a glint of worry in his eyes. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

I shook my head, deciding not to tell him that yes he did in fact wake me up, “No, no, I was just wondering how you were?”

Sherlock shifted his weight nervously, eyes focused on his violin and not on me. He was obviously very uncomfortable about his breakdown last night and wasn’t sure how to deal with the aftermath, “I’m um… well…”

He cleared his throat and looked at me briefly before returning his gaze to the violin in his hands, “Listen, John… I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t want you to see that. I lost control yesterday and…”

As he was speaking, I had started shaking my head and approaching him slowly, “No, Sherlock, don’t ever say that to me alright?”

Sherlock took a few steps back, head down, “I-I’m sorry John, I didn’t mean to upset you…”

I have often called Sherlock a child but he had never looked more like one now as he backed away, looking as though he had just disappointed his mother; submissive, shy and scared. I had never seen Sherlock like this and it threw me off guard.

I realised that he was very fragile today after letting out the feelings and experiences he had bottled up for so long and had misunderstood my meaning.

“No, what I meant was that you don’t need to talk to me like that because I am glad that you told me. About what happened to you,” I said, carefully phrasing my sentences so he didn’t misunderstand me again, “I mean, you’re experiencing something and it’s affecting you which is making me worried. And you’re not going to get better until you let it out and talk about it.”

It was clear that Sherlock didn’t really understand why talking about it would help by his unconvinced expression and submissive posture. He was still worried that he had upset me in some way so I did the only thing that made sense to me.

I went up to Sherlock’s thin frame and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a gentle, tentative hug. He tensed instantly but after a few seconds of me rubbing his back gently he relaxed slightly and hesitantly placed an arm around me.

“It’s okay, Sherlock,” I whispered, not letting go of the far too thin body, “I’m not upset, I just want to help.”

Sherlock, surprisingly, hugged me closer, took a breath and asked quietly, “John… what’s happening to me?”

The childlike innocence of the question and the nature in which it was posed to him almost brought me to tears. Sherlock, my dear, brilliant Sherlock, sounded so scared and unsure. I squeezed him back and thought carefully about what I was could tell him without scaring him.

“Well, the extreme suppression of deeply painful memories is making you ill. Your brain is still trying to process all the awful things that happened to you which you have been ignoring. That’s why your body is reacting this way,” I stopped.

Sherlock did not make any indication of acquiescence so I ploughed on, “You need to deal with the pain and trauma you experienced so your body can get better and function properly,” I pulled gently out of the hug and locked eyes with the taller man, “Do you understand?”

“I don’t want to deal with it; I want it to stop!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“I know, but it can’t stop until you do, okay?”

Sherlock’s face looked pensive before beginning to close off and detach again. I had to stop him from shutting me out so I grabbed the side of his face, forcefully yet kindly, and angled it towards me, “Sherlock, you don’t have much choice. I’m going to get you through this and there’s nothing you can do to stop me from helping my best friend.”

Sherlock looked at me with a look that seemed to me to be a silent thanks. He nodded dropped his violin on my armchair.  
I smiled reassuringly at him and led him to the couch where I gently pushed him down onto the cushions, “First of all, I’m going to get you something to eat…”

Sherlock groaned, “I’m not hungry! I don’t want to eat.”

I looked at him and glared, not too harshly but just enough for him to know that there was no other option. He sighed and slouched back into the cushions. I went to the kitchen and fixed him some toast with butter.

I returned and handed the plate to Sherlock before sitting next to him on the couch. He started to nibble at one piece under my watchful gaze. We sat like that in silence for a while until my gaze wandered to the piece of Sherlock’s bare chest that I could see from between the material of his dressing gown.

“So, you never told me how you escaped…” I began, reaching for the revealed flesh.

Sherlock tensed up so I dropped my hand and shuffled to the opposite end of the couch, trying to show him that I wasn’t going to push anything if the detective didn’t want it. He surprised me, though, by gently placing the half eaten toast on the coffee table and scooting towards me hesitantly, so much so that our thighs were almost touching.

I felt slightly uncomfortable about our proximity, thinking worriedly that Sherlock might have interpreted the events of last night differently (although I wasn’t too sure how I interpreted last night, but that was a problem for another day) I linked my arm gently through his without even really realising what I was doing.

Sherlock looked at my arm linked through his own, and a tiny hint of a smile ghosted across his mouth. He paused for a second before snuggling into me slightly. This was a slight shock but also a revelation as, to my surprise, it was not entirely unwanted.

“I was being moved from the basement that I was in when I escaped,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Why were you being moved?” I asked in the same hushed tone.

Sherlock rested his head on my shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths, “I’m not entirely sure but I think Mycroft was getting close to my location so they needed to move me if Moran wanted to keep his plaything.”

I shuddered slightly at the thought of Sherlock being treated that way but Sherlock pushed on as though afraid he would lose momentum, “Anyway, I was put into a van with tinted windows when I knew I had to make my escape.

“I was with two guards and Moran was driving in the front. I was chained to the floor of the van but I managed to subdue the guards without too much trouble but then I had to get out of the chains.

“The only thing I could think of was to shoot it off by taking one of the guns off the guards but I knew Moran would hear me but I had no choice. I shot the chain off where it was connected to the floor, opened the back doors of the van and jumped out.”

“While it was still moving?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s how you dislocated your shoulder right?”

Sherlock nodded and continued, “I landed on my shoulder but I knew I had to keep going so I ran as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast as I wasn’t in the best condition, and found Mycroft’s car following.

“He picked me up and took me to a special MI-6 hospital or something so Moran wouldn’t find me… hmm…”

Sherlock’s head drooped and he trailed off. Confessing all this to me must have exhausted him so I decided to let him sleep. Carefully I extracted myself from Sherlock and laid him down on the couch.

I fetched a blanket and draped it over him, watching his pale face and smiling at how peaceful he looked at last. Looking at him sleep made me feel all fuzzy inside which was slightly startling for a man who thought he was completely and officially straight.

I decided not to worry about it and put the kettle on, pondering all that Sherlock had told me and wondering what I could do to help him recover.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait guys!! I've been really busy at school and then my internet wasn't working for about a week so it's been kinda hectic lately!!
> 
> Bit of a short chapter but I thought it best to post something short than nothing at all :)  
> Enjoy!

Half an hour later, I was sitting in my armchair with a cup of tea watching the morning news on mute so as not to wake Sherlock who was still sleeping fairly undisturbed on the couch. I kept glancing over at his form, thinking about how I felt about all that had happened in the last twenty four hours.

I was disgusted by what I found out about what had happened to him. I knew that much. But I was concerned about how I had reacted to seeing Sherlock’s body and my immediate impulse to touch him.

I tried to convince myself that it was purely a doctor’s reaction to all the scars I had discovered on his skin but really I knew it was more than that. Ever since I met Sherlock Holmes, I have been a different man. For starters I hadn’t ever been in a serious relationship since moving in with him.

This coupled with the fact that I put up with all his ridiculous experiments, spend almost all of my time in his presence (even if he doesn’t realise that I’m even there), constantly monitor wether he has eaten or slept, remind him to do so if he has neglected such necessities and always, without fail, drop everything to follow him into whatever danger and life threatening situations the criminal element have to throw at us, left me to conclude from my morning ponderings that I was completely, and probably stupidly, besotted with Sherlock Holmes.

Such a revelation to someone of my age was a shock to put it mildly. Whilst I was trying to digest this sudden realisation that I wasn’t at all as straight as I thought I was, I then became dimly aware of Mrs Hudson’s presence in the kitchen.

Seeing Sherlock still comfortably sleeping (and resisting the sudden unexpected urge to brush the curls that had fallen over his face away from his eyes) I stood and padded to the kitchen.

“Good morning John, dear,” Mrs Hudson said pleasantly as she cleaned up some of the mess that littered the kitchen benches.

I pressed a finger to my lips and gestured to where Sherlock was sleeping. Mrs Hudson crept to peek around the corner of the kitchen into the lounge room before returning with a smile on her face. She spoke this time in a more hushed tone.

“I’m glad to see he’s getting some rest, he hasn’t been sleeping well lately, poor dear,” she said.

“So you’ve noticed that too then?” I asked in an equally hushed tone.

Mrs Hudson nodded gravely, “He’s been very jumpy lately, more so than usual. I suppose we’ll just have to wait it out until he tells us what’s going on in that funny head of his.”

Sherlock was like a son to Mrs Hudson and I could see the intense worry on her face, so I decided that she needed to know what was going on. I gestured for her to follow me downstairs and when we got to her little kitchen, we sat down and I told her everything that I had learned.

When I had finished (and had left out many of the grisly details of the tale), she looked at me with tears in her eyes, “I knew something was wrong but I could never have imagined it to be something this horrible!”

I nodded in acquiescence. I was silent for a few moments, allowing Mrs Hudson time to process all that I had told her. I then thought back to my morning ponderings and the subsequent revelation and decided that I needed a second opinion regarding my feelings for the man sleeping on the couch upstairs.

I cleared my throat tentatively, “Um, Mrs Hudson?”

She looked up at me, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, “Yes dear?

“I’ve been thinking this morning and…” I stopped. Could I really just tell Mrs Hudson?

“What is it dear?” Mrs Hudson asked.

“I think I’m in love with Sherlock,” I blurted. As soon as the words had left my mouth I regretted it. I think I even stopped breathing as I looked at Mrs Hudson wide eyed, hoping that she wouldn’t laugh. I wasn’t even sure what her reaction would be actually, I just hoped she wouldn’t judge me or something.

Mrs Hudson smiled kindly at me for a second before chuckling quietly.

Was she laughing at me? I literally did a double take. Was she really laughing at me?

“Um, Mrs Hudson…” I said quietly.

She stopped chuckling and looked me straight in the eye, “It’s about time you realised, dear!”

I blinked, once again flabbergasted into silence. I opened and closed my mouth a few times but no sound came out. I’m sure I looked ridiculously like a goldfish as I sat there struggling to find an answer to such a startling comment.

“Um… Well, uh… how long have you… uh… you know…” I stammered, turning an intense shade of red.

Mrs Hudson smiled and covered my hands with hers, “Since he came back. When he died you grieved like anyone would for a close friend, but when he came back… Well, dear, let’s just say that you’ve treated him differently since then!”

I paused for a second, gathering my thoughts, “What do you mean? I haven’t noticed any…”

But wait a minute, I had been treating him differently. I had hardly let him out of sight for almost the whole time Sherlock had been back. I didn’t want him running off again, or so I had told myself. Maybe there really was something in this, not just some weird delusion or something.

“It’s aright dear,” Mrs Hudson said quietly, “I’m sure this is all a bit of a shock for you.”

That was putting it mildly. At that moment I felt so lost. Everything I thought I knew was wrong. I wasn’t the man I thought I had been for almost forty years.

Clearing my throat, I said quietly, “What do I do?”

Mrs Hudson smiled at me and said with honest conviction, “It’s up to you, dear. I don’t know what you should do, but if you want my opinion, let Sherlock heal. Help him get through this, and then see where you stand once he’s feeling better.”

I nodded. That was going to be easier said than done.

“John…” I heard my name float down from upstairs in Sherlock’s deep baritone voice.

Mrs Hudson smiled at me one last time before raising me up off my chair and pushing me towards the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

I climbed the stairs slowly, trying to push all thoughts of what Mrs Hudson and I had just discussed out of my mind so I could focus on talking care of Sherlock and helping him heal. When I reached the top of the stairs I found Sherlock sitting on the couch with his knees tucked under his chin.

“Hey,” I said quietly, sitting beside him, “Did you have another nightmare?”

He nodded, “I woke up and you weren’t here…”

A pang of guilt stabbed at my gut, “I’m sorry, I was downstairs with Mrs Hudson. I was telling her about your, um, condition.”

Sherlock looked at me with wide eyes full of a mixture of worry, anger and even a hint of fear, “Why did you tell Mrs Hudson?”

“Should I not have told her?” I asked, confused.

He shook his head and started rocking back and forth muttering, “No, no, oh god, no, no…”

“Hey,” I put an arm around his too-thin shoulders to still him, “What’s wrong? Why shouldn’t I have told her?”

“Because… she’ll think… think I’m…” Sherlock started, before letting his forehead drop forwards onto his arms with a strangled sob.

I rubbed his back, figuring that he would tell me when he was ready. His behaviour seemed even more on edge than last night, making me even more worried about him than before. He must have been really freaked out by waking up from his nightmare without me around. Eventually though, his breathing slowed slightly, he didn’t raise his head but he mumbled something into his arms.

“What was that?” I asked softly. He sobbed again and I reached forwards to tip his head up to face me. He looked at me with huge, watery eyes and took a deep breath.

“Everyone I meet, if they want me at all, they want me for my brain. And- and if I don’t… don’t have that then… then…” Sherlock trailed off and buried his head back in his arms.

Then it dawned on me, “Oh, oh Sherlock… You think that no one will want you if you don’t have your intelligence? Oh, Sherlock… No! Don’t think that! Don’t ever think that!”

Sherlock started to shake his head and mumble. He began rocking again but I grasped his shoulders firmly and shook him slightly. He looked up and stared at me while I placed a hand gently on the side of his face.

“Don’t you ever think that Sherlock Holmes! You are the most important thing in the universe and you will never, never not be wanted! Not by Greg, Molly, Mrs Hudson and most importantly, you will always and forever be wanted by me!”

After I had said that I realised how it sounded and felt a burning in my cheeks. But Sherlock didn’t notice, instead, his lips curved into a tiny smile. He didn’t look totally convinced but it seemed that I had reassured him a little.

I cleared my throat and averted my eyes before changing the subject, “So, um, do you want some tea? Or, or maybe something to eat?”

Sherlock sighed, lowering his feet to the floor and running his hands through his curls, making my stomach flip. I had seen him do that many times before but only now had I realised how beautiful he was.

“No, I think I’ll have a shower first. Maybe after that I’ll have some tea or something,” he said weakly, attempting to get to his feet. I rose too and helped him up by the arm. He swayed slightly and leaned on me for support.

“Are you sure you want to have a shower? You don’t look very steady at the moment,” I said, concerned as I helped him shuffle towards the bathroom.

Just as I finished saying this, he had another dizzy spell and clung to the doorframe of the bathroom, “Ugh, maybe not…” Sherlock said quietly.

I was surprised that he agreed with me on his state of health, which usually he is extremely stubborn about, “Why don’t you have a bath instead?” I suggested, helping him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet.

He said nothing but simply nodded and rubbed at his head with a hand, revealing some of the scars I had discovered last night. I looked away and started the bathwater with a knot in my stomach. As the bath filled up, I set about finding Sherlock a towel, soap and other necessities so that I didn’t have to look at him; because it broke my heart.

He looked so frail and fragile, like a china doll that might shatter if you dropped it. Eventually, the bath filled up and I tested the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. I then straightened and turned around to face Sherlock, who was trying unsuccessfully to worm his way out of his dressing gown.

I approached him and took hold of the silky blue material. Sherlock sighed dejectedly as I helped him out of the garment, my fingertips brushing my flat mate’s flesh with what seemed to me like a jolt of electricity. Then my stomach dropped as I realised something.

I was going to have to help Sherlock out of his trousers as he was nowhere near steady enough to do it alone. Then I would have to help him into the bath, naked! I felt so awful in those brief seconds of realisation, because my stomach did backflips at the thought of Sherlock naked in front of me.

These feelings made me feel so terrible, like I was taking advantage of him or something, but I knew I had to assist him for his own safety. So I grasped Sherlock’s forearm and led him to the edge of the bath. Swallowing hard and trying to push all emotions away, I moved my hands to the waistline of his pyjama bottoms.

I lowered his trousers, down, down until they pooled at my flat mate’s feet on the tiled floor. I grasped his arm again so he could step out of them slowly, trying my hardest to look anywhere but the white legs that were revealed to me. I was dreading what came next…

“It’s alright, I can do the rest,” Sherlock said quietly.

I breathed a mental sigh of relief but the next words came out anyway, “Are you sure you can manage on your own?”

Sherlock smirked, a mere shadow of what I knew the original was like, “I think I can. I have done this before you know!”

I felt a blush rising in my cheeks again, “I know, it’s just that… what I meant was that… um, you know, you’re not well at the moment so maybe you… um…”

I trailed off as Sherlock continued to smile to himself, “I’ll shout if I need you,” he said.

Nodding, I left him to his own devices and sagged against the door once I had closed it behind me. Letting out a shaky breath, I heard the splashing of water as Sherlock entered the bath and I squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to push away the image of Sherlock’s naked, broken body in the water.

I moved away from the bathroom, composing myself and put the kettle on, running a hand through my hair in exasperation. I vaguely heard the doorbell ring, but I was too absorbed in my own thoughts to properly register it. Just as the kettle boiled, an all too familiar voice rang through the flat.

“Hello John,” Mycroft Holmes said, leaning on his ever present umbrella.

I sighed, probably a bit too obnoxiously, and one thought crossed my mind; shit…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! More coming as soon as possible! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. School has swamped me lately so this one is a little short but thanks for your support everyone! :)

“Mycroft,” I said wearily, it was only ten in the morning and I already felt exhausted, “Do you need something?”

“I have been monitoring Sherlock’s health, mental and physical, and I thought that I should tell you a few things before you proceed with any sort of treatment,” Mycroft said with his usual upturned nose.

I turned towards him and leaned on the kitchen bench. I felt a burning, seething anger in the pit of my stomach towards the elder Holmes. How could he have let that happen to his own brother? I think back on it now and realise how unfair those thoughts were, as he did in fact rescue Sherlock eventually, but I wasn’t thinking straight.

So I said nothing, but gave him an icy cold look, folded my arms over my chest and a shrugged my shoulders, indicating for him to go on. He did.

“Sherlock was… detained for about ten months. I don’t know how much he’s told you but as a doctor I’m sure you’ve realised how serious the situation was. When I found him he was… on the verge of death.

I transferred him to a secure medical facility and nursed him back to health, the best doctors in the country were on site, don’t worry…”

“Don’t worry?” I interrupted incredulously. “Don’t worry?! How dare you tell me not to worry! My best friend, whom I thought was dead, was alive the whole time and in your care and you didn’t even think to tell me?!”

Mycroft took a visible step backwards, a look of surprise on his face. It was only there for a moment and then his calm façade was firmly back in place. He spoke on, “It was still too dangerous to involve you. We had to make sure you weren’t in any immediate danger from Moran…”

“And how did that work out, huh? Tell me… Is he still out there?”

Mycroft averted his eyed from my own piercing, rage filled gaze, “For the moment, he is still free but in deep hiding. Our attempts to capture him obviously spooked him. He’s gone underground with no trace…

What you must know is that Sherlock is fragile at the moment, mentally and physically. He spent two months in physical rehab and another three getting mental assistance. I want you to be careful John. He’s not in his right mind at the moment and you will have to take extreme caution and care when treating him.

I know you’ll take care of him John, you always have, but this time… Sherlock is so far gone… I just hope that we aren’t too late…”

I attempted to push my anger away and focus on helping Sherlock. Mycroft was clearly concerned for his little brother, although he would never show it; he was distressed at Sherlock’s condition.

I sighed and nodded, feeling drained, “Yeah, I know, Mycroft. I’m doing everything I can. He needs to overcome this extreme trauma he’s suffered and I don’t know how long that will take but we’ll get through it.”

Mycroft nodded gravely. He opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock’s voice echoed from the bathroom, “John… John, I don’t feel well…”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Mycroft said, heading towards the door. I nodded, not bothering to see him out, before steeling myself and heading towards the bathroom. I knocked on the door to make sure my flat mate was decent, mostly for my sake.

He grunted his permission for me to enter and I pushed the door open to see Sherlock perched upon the edge of the bath tub with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still damp and dripping. I let out a shaky breath, trying to keep myself objective.

“What’s wrong Sherlock?” I asked moving closer to him and bending over to look at him.

He shrugged his bare shoulders like a petulant teenager and mumbled, “I don’t feel well…”

I nodded patiently, “Okay, how do feel sick? Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He sighed tiredly as I took his scarred wrist, felt his pulse and generally observed him; slightly elevated pulse, more rapid breathing than normal and he looked pale and tense.

“I feel nauseous, my head hurts and I ache all over…” he said quietly.

I nodded, processing the information, “Okay, the aching is a side effect of what you’re going through; being so on edge all the time means your muscles tense and then they ache,” I explained, returning his hand to his lap and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The nausea and the headache are to do with that as well. Let’s get you into some clothes and then we can see how you feel, okay?”

Sherlock nodded as I helped him get to his feet. He draped his arm across my shoulders and I wrapped my own arm around his waist as I led him to his bedroom to find him some clothes. I tried to conceal how excited the feel of Sherlock’s flesh against me felt; the slight tremble of his muscles beneath my fingers, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his slightly rapid breath.

Thankfully, it seemed Sherlock was far too concerned with not being sick and losing his balance to notice my own elevated breath somewhat shaking hands.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo sorry for the lateness of this update. Thank you for sticking by the story even when I deliver chapters late!  
> We have a flashback here so enjoy :)

After Sherlock had dressed himself (quite slowly), I went back into his room and looked him over once again. He still looked pale and shaky but at least he was clothed which was a relief to me. I placed my palm against his forehead and asked him how he felt.

Sherlock groaned, “Ugh, I still feel a bit sick…”

His forehead was slightly hot against my hand, “Perhaps you should get some rest?”

Sherlock moaned like a grumpy teenager, “No! I’ve been resting and…”

“And you should rest more! Doctor’s orders,” I said, pushing him gently back onto his bed.

He sighed, “Can I ask my doctor if I could do something else instead?”

I cocked my head to one side curiously, “Like what?”

Sherlock sat up again and averted his eyes, “I would like to research post-traumatic stress so I know what‘s happening to me.”

I smiled and nodded; of course Sherlock would want as much data as possible, “Yeah okay, as long as you do it restfully!”

Sherlock smiled half-heartedly and got to his feet with a grunt. He placed a hand on my shoulder and we walked to the couch where Sherlock sunk into it. I rummaged around and found his laptop, bringing it over to him and placing it in his lap, “Do you want some tea now?”

He nodded and opened his laptop, already savouring putting his mind to work. I shook my head and headed towards the kitchen, putting the kettle on. As it boiled, I poked my head around the corner of the kitchen and watched Sherlock as his dexterous digits tapped at the keyboard.

The very sight of Sherlock’s mind at work made me smile, but it faded just as quickly as I realised what was wrong with that very mind and what it was researching. As I watched Sherlock’s pale brow crinkle, I couldn’t help a sad smile tug at my lips. I was going to get him better. There was no other alternative.

The kettle finished boiling and I reluctantly left my vantage point to pour him his beverage. I brought the mug over to him, placed it on the coffee table and began to leave when Sherlock grabbed my sleeve. I looked at him, surprised.

“Sit with me?” Sherlock asked quietly without even looking up from his laptop. I raised my eyebrows, looked down at his hand on my arm and cleared my throat.

“Yeah, yeah okay. Just um, let me get a book and I’ll be back,” I said. Sherlock nodded and released my sleeve. I let out a shaky breath and went over to my armchair to collect my book.

Once I had retrieved it, I went back over to the couch and sat down at the end. I had just settled in before Sherlock swung his legs around and dropped them into my lap. I sat frozen in place, staring at the white bare feet in my lap. I cleared my throat but when he didn’t even blink, I sighed and rested my elbows on his lower legs, opened my book and tried to concentrate.

I attempted to read but I found myself reading the same paragraph over and over again as I kept getting distracted by the sound of Sherlock’s breathing. Every so often he would shift his legs a little in my lap, which for some unknown reason brought a smile to my face.

Looking back now, I think it was because I was so happy to know he was there, safe and sound from the horrors he experienced, and that I was there to protect him. But at the time, my happiness confounded me; I couldn’t understand why having Sherlock’s long legs resting in my lap would make me smile.

I then remembered my talk with Mrs Hudson and tried my hardest not to pay attention to the consulting detective, who continued fidgeting and sighing very loudly, inevitably drawing my attention back to him no matter how hard I tried.

We sat like this for a little while, until suddenly Sherlock shut the lid of his laptop with a snap and a growl at it before turning on his side in a huff, bringing his knees up and curling into a ball. I closed my book and looked at him; I assumed he hadn’t found the answers he was looking for.

I didn’t say anything; I just sat and watched him. I know he knew that I was looking at him, but he was deliberately ignoring me. So I just sat there, waiting for him to get frustrated or just bored so he would open up to me. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Ugh! It hasn’t helped!” he exclaimed, sitting up to face me and pulling his knees up underneath his chin as he sighed, frustrated, “I thought having more data would help but it hasn’t!”

I smiled and nodded, “You’re not going to find the answers to your condition on the internet!”

“Then what do I do?” Sherlock cried, looking at me with wide, frightened eyes, “I don’t know what’s… I just, don’t… and…”

He had gotten himself worked up again; breathing laboured and uneven, pulse elevated, eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead once more but most worryingly, he was scratching distraughtly at the back of his hands.

I quickly shuffled towards him and placed my hands over his to still them, “Shhhh, it’s okay, just calm down…”

Sherlock started shaking his head desperately and mumbling incoherently. I squeezed his hands and shook them gently, “Sherlock? Sherlock, listen to me. I know that you’re scared, but we’re gonnna get through it, yeah?”

He was still shaking his head so I grasped the back of his neck and shook him gently again, “Okay, okay, you want to know what to do? You need to calm down first. Just take some deep breaths…”

He took a few shaky breaths and rested his head against the back of the couch. He closed his eyes and for a short while he seemed to calm but then he began to become tense again, “Every time I close my eyes… I see him… I’m back there again…”

“You’re not, you’re with me, you’re safe,” I said quietly. He opened his eyes and nodded, but his eyes still looked slightly glazed over.

“Tell me what you see, when you close your eyes,” I said gently, hoping not to scare him but encourage him to describe what it was he was flashing back to.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed again and he took a breath, grasping desperately onto my hand, “…Chained up, he’s smiling at me, he… he runs his hands over my chest, scratching me… then… then, lower…” He whimpered and sobbed, before crying out and scrambling off the couch, stumbling over to his armchair before collapsing to the floor.

“Sherlock!” I leapt to my feet and rushed over to him. He was clinging for dear life to the arm of his chair, sobbing, whimpering.

“No, no, no… leave me alone… no…” he muttered, covering his head with one arm.

I wrapped my arms around him and held him to me, rocking him gently and whispering soothing words into his ear. We were only like this for a second until he forcefully, but not violently, pushed me away. He tore at his shirt, clawing at the material.

“Get it off… I’m dirty… get him out… please… I’ll never be clean… oh god… get him out… I can still feel him… get him out…” Sherlock cried as he tore at his body.

I tried to catch his flailing arms, all the while crooning soft words of comfort. Eventually, his struggles became weaker and weaker, until he slumped, exhausted, limply into my arms. His breathing was still laboured, he was shaky and sweaty from his struggle, but I held him nonetheless.

It broke my heart to see him like this, but at the same time I knew it was necessary for Sherlock to tell me what happened and how he was feeling so I could help him get better. It killed me to even think it, but I had to break down his walls before I could begin build him back up.

We sat there for what felt like an age. I felt a cramp developing in my leg but I didn’t care. I stayed exactly where I was, holding Sherlock, just being there for him. After a while he spoke almost inaudibly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to loose it like that. I didn’t want you to know... I didn’t want you to see any of this…”

I tucked his head under my chin and said, “Don’t worry, it’s okay.” I comforted him in silence for a moment before telling him what I knew he didn’t want to hear but I needed to know, “Listen, Sherlock, you were examined at that medical facility you were at, right? I mean, with rape tests and everything.”

Sherlock nodded meekly, “They said I would be sore but there was no lasting damage. I had to use this salve though… they said the skin was torn…”

He sighed shakily into my chest and I nodded, “Thank you for telling me that.”

“S’okay…” he mumbled. I decided to rouse him before he fully fell asleep again, so I encouraged him to his feet and guided him to his bedroom. I pulled the covers back and helped him in. He fell asleep instantly, and I left the room with the door open, in case he had any nightmares.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next one with some fluff and a confused John ;)  
> Enjoy and thank you for your support!

An hour later, I was researching treatments for PTSD sufferers when my phone buzzed. I answered it to find Greg on the other end.

“Hi Greg, do you need something?”

“No, I was just wondering how Sherlock is. You know, just wondering what’s going on… I worry about him…”

“He’s uh, not too good to be perfectly honest with you,” I told him everything I had told Mrs Hudson and when I had finished, there was silence on the other end.

“Jesus… I knew something was wrong but… oh shit… What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to get him through it. He’s really not very well at the moment but I’m going to help him. What else can I do?”

“I’m so glad he’s got you to take care of him.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, so am I!”

"If there's anything I can do..."

"I know where you are," I said warmly.

We exchanged goodbyes and I ended the call. I went back to my laptop but only for a minute or so before Sherlock padded shakily into the lounge.

“Sherlock! How are you?” I said, closing my laptop and getting to my feet.

“I feel sick again…” he mumbled, averting his eyes.

I nodded and led him to the kitchen where I pulled out a chair and sat him down in it, “I’m going to get you some food. We need to get some energy into you.”

I was surprised when Sherlock didn’t complain, merely nodded silently. I looked him over and noticed that he still seemed to have that faraway look. As I began making him some soup, I asked him as casually as I could, “Did you sleep well?”

There was a pause before he said quietly, “Not really. I had a nightmare.”

I nodded, not turning to look at him, “What happened? In the nightmare, I mean.”

“Nothing much,” he said with a sigh. “Just the usual; Moran, chains, a branding iron…”

The shock of hearing him talk so nonchalantly about what had happened made me drop the soup ladle I was holding. I closed my eyes, leaning on the bench. The way he talked, as if it didn’t even matter. To be honest, it scared me to death.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said sombrely, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I turned towards him, folding my arms across my chest. Sherlock was staring at the table sadly as I said, “I told you before, you don’t have any reason to be sorry.”

He nodded and said apologetically, “Okay.”

I sighed, knowing that he was still sorry, so I crossed to him, knelt in front of him and spoke earnestly, “Look, I know that you are just being honest with me, and I appreciate that, I really do. But sometimes… well, you need to understand that some of the things you tell me won’t always be what I want to hear, but I need to know so I can help you. I’m glad you’re telling me these things but they may sometimes make me upset… because I care about you. Do you understand?”

Sherlock looked at the table and nodded ever so slightly, “Okay. I understand but I don’t want to upset you.”

“And I don’t want you to get worse,” I said. I placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, before getting to my feet going back to Sherlock’s meal. I continued to make his meal in contemplative silence until he spoke quietly, timidly.

“Why do you care about me?”

I froze. How could he even ask that? I turned to him, having no idea how to react, I went over to him and embraced him, pulling his head to my chest and threading my fingers through his sleep tousled curls.

“How could I not?” I whispered, “You’re brilliant, passionate, beautiful and the most human human I have ever known.”

There was a pause before Sherlock said quietly, “You think I’m beautiful?”

My heart stopped. Oh god, had I actually said that to him? What the hell was I going to say to get out of this?

“Um, I didn’t, uh…”

“Why do you think I’m beautiful?”

I had no idea what to say to him, so I held him close and started stroking his curls, “Well, um, your skin, how soft it is to touch. Um, your hair, how it curls over your forehead… and your eyes, how they are green and blue and grey all at the same time… You’re just, beautiful.”

There was silence again and I felt a blush rising in my cheeks as I thought about what I had just said. Then Sherlock said softly, nestling into me a little, “I don’t really understand the term ‘beautiful’. When applied to people, I mean. You know, I find the natural processes of bees beautiful, but… it doesn’t make sense to me with… people.”

“Well,” I began but I wasn’t sure how to explain beauty to a man who has never felt attraction for any human being before. “Let’s see, um, you know, when you find someone aesthetically pleasing.”

Sherlock pulled away and I let him go, turning my back to him and going back to his soup in a desperate attempt to hide the extreme blush colouring my neck and face. How could I say that about another man? I had never found a man ‘aesthetically pleasing’ before, but now…? Why did this have to be so confusing?

I busied myself pouring the soup into a bowl and placed it in front of Sherlock, who at the smell of food seemed to sit up a little straighter. I handed him a spoon and sat myself down at the table, watching Sherlock intently as he, rather uncharacteristically, began slurping his soup enthusiastically.

“Hungry?” I asked with a smile, quickly changing the subject.

Sherlock looked at me, then regarded his already half empty bowl and smiled back pensively, “I guess.”

‘I’m glad you’re eating,” I said as he went back to his soup. “We need to get some meat back on those bones!”

Sherlock paused as he blew on his spoonful of soup and nodded quietly before returning to his meal. I cocked my head to one side as I watched him. He really was awfully thin. I thought perhaps I needed to put him back on a drip, but I knew Sherlock would never agree.

I was awakened from my ponderings by Sherlock saying quietly, “I think you are.”

I furrowed my brow, “You think I am what?”

“Aesthetically pleasing.”

I blinked. What? Had I heard him right? He thinks I’m attractive? Me, a middle-aged, wounded, weather beaten old soldier… pleasing to the great Sherlock Holmes... What did I say to him now?

“Uh,” I cleared my throat awkwardly, “um, thanks…”

Sherlock ducked his head and continued to gulp down his meal while I averted my eyes, trying to think clearly. Butterflies were making my stomach flutter at the thought that Sherlock found me attractive. I never thought he would ever find another person, male or female, attractive, so this was a complete shock.

I was also trying to come to terms with my own feelings towards the man, the key word for me being 'man'. When I first met Sherlock I had noticed that he was indeed very handsome, but that’s the only way I’ve ever seen any man. I’ve appreciated their looks, possibly even envied them, but never been attracted to…

I gulped; I was way out of my depth here. I needed to ask someone’s advice on this, but who could I ask? Mrs Hudson? No, I didn’t think she’d be comfortable discussing something like that with me, nor I with her for that matter. There was no way I could talk to Mycroft…perhaps Greg? No, he was my mate, that would be weird, wouldn’t it? That really only left Molly, who was already in love with Sherlock which wouldn’t help at all, or Harry…  
Harry had been a great support for me over the previous years in Sherlock’s… absence, as she had just gotten out of rehab and was prepared to repay me for all the times I was there for her. She still hasn’t had a drink since, but lately we had drifted apart. In this last year, people had sort of left me to my own devices to try and sort out my life, which I had been glad for, as I had spent the better part of two years being asked if I was okay every two seconds.  
I knew that Harry was still in the clear with the drinking, so that was a good sign, but she had never been a fan of my flatmate. She had always thought he was a danger to himself and to those around him but she knew what I was going through. After all, she had done it herself, maybe she had some insights she could impart to me.  
I was brought back to reality as Sherlock finished his soup and pushed his bowl away. He had a bit more colour in his cheeks now so as I cleaned up, I decided to call Harry later and arrange to meet up with her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda long chapter, but I'm sure you guys won't mind! :P

After Sherlock had finished his meal, he got to his feet and tottered over to the couch, before collapsing onto it and asking quietly if I could put the TV on for him. I thought that the way he asked was strange; polite, tentative, even fearful, a complete change from his old demanding nature. As I turned the TV on for him, I thought about how he had been acting very timid lately.

Only now had it really sunk in how different that was for him, and how it meant bad news. I thought to myself that I should get in touch with Mycroft to ask him about Sherlock’s behaviour when he had first come out of that hell hole with Moran, as I handed him the remote.

He nodded his thanks meekly, before curling into a ball protectively and switching through the channels without really seeing anything. I went over to my chair as he did so and got out my phone. It was only about eleven o’clock so I decided to text Harry and see if she could meet me for lunch. I sent of a short, polite text before sitting in my armchair and nervously waiting for a reply.

As I waited, my gaze wandered over to Sherlock and I began taking in every detail before I even knew it. His cheekbones, his eyes, and his Cupid’s bow lips that looked so enticingly kissable… I wondered what it would be like to have my own lips pressed against his, to ravish his mouth…

Thankfully I was jerked out of reverie by my phone’s incessant buzzing before I got too excited. I looked at the screen; it was Harry.

 

'Sure Johnny, whatever u want. R u ok?'

 

I thought about my answer carefully before replying: 'Yeah, I’m fine. Just want 2 talk. We haven’t spoken in a while & I need to get something off my chest. I think u r the only 1 who will understand.'

 

I hit the send button and looked up to find Sherlock gazing at me curiously. I could practically see the cogs in his brain working away; trying to deduce what was going on. If Sherlock had been in full health, I would have worried about being discovered but in his current state, there was little to fear, as the consulting detective was not in his best state of mental health.

When I caught his eye he quickly looked back to the TV with pinkish tinges crawling into his cheeks. Now it was my turn to look at the other curiously. Was he blushing? No, he couldn’t be…  
My phone buzzed again:

 

'Yeah, whatever u need   
U wanna meet at noon?'

 

I sent her back the address of Speedy’s Sandwich Bar downstairs so that I would still be close at hand if Sherlock needed me and put away my phone. I sat for a minute or two, gazing at the TV and trying to figure out a way I could break this to Sherlock. I decided a direct approach was necessary.

“Uh, Sherlock?” I began.

He looked at me, “Hmm?”

“Listen, uh, I’m going to go downstairs to Speedy’s for lunch. I’m meeting my sister there…”

“You’re leaving?” Sherlock asked desperately, eyes wide.

I got to my feet went to sit next to him on the couch, “Just for a little bit. I’ll get Mrs Hudson to come and sit with you and if you need me just send her down to get me and I’ll come straight back up. Is that okay?”

Sherlock sat for a minute, rocking back and forwards slightly, “I don’t want you to go…”

I sighed, thinking rapidly for another solution. He wasn’t ready for this, “Okay, how about you stay here and Harry and I can talk down in Mrs Hudson’s kitchen. That way if you need me you can just yell and I’ll be right there.”

He still looked on edge but Sherlock nodded slowly and whispered, “I s’pose if you have to…”

“I won’t be long, I promise,” I said, taking his hand and squeezing it slightly.

He looked down at our hands and smiled grimly before nodding. I decided to reassure him further, “I don’t have to leave just yet, so I can sit with you for a little while longer.”

Sherlock nodded turned back to the TV. I got my phone out again and informed my sister of the change of plans, before settling onto the couch with a book.

*****

I heard the knock at the door and Mrs Hudson greeting my sister before she came to tell me Harry had arrived. I reassured Sherlock one last time and asked Mrs Hudson to sit with him until I came back.

He looked a little more relaxed with company so I left him and went to greet my sister. She looked worried but only for a second because her face lit up when she saw me.

“Johnny!” she exclaimed, embracing me in a bear hug.

“Hey Harry,” I greeted as I squeezed her back. Harry held onto me for a long time until I said, “Okay, now it’s becoming hard to breathe…”

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, quickly letting go and pushing a lock of golden brown hair behind her ear nervously.

“Sorry for the change of plans, it’s just that Sherlock’s really not in a very good way,” I said, gesturing her to a seat in Mrs Hudson’s kitchen. She had laid out pastries and tea and various other specialities of our landlady.

As Harry sat down she asked, “What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?”

Once more I launched into the story of Sherlock’s years of absence, feeling like I had told the grim tale a million times. When I had finished, she covered her mouth with a hand in shock, shaking her head in disbelief

“Oh my god! That’s so… god that’s awful! Is… is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

I shook my head wearily, “No, but it’s related to Sherlock, since he came back.”

Harry sat and waited patiently for me to begin, as she had done so many times before during the past three years. Now that I was here having this conversation, I had no idea how to phrase what I wanted desperately to get off my chest.

“Well, um, since Sherlock got back, I’ve noticed something… about me,” I started uncertainly. She nodded supportively and I continued, “I’ve, uh, discovered something about me that I’m having a hard time dealing with and I think you’re the only one who will really understand.”

“John, just tell me; what’s on your mind?” she asked kindly yet concernedly.

“How do you know if you’re in love?” I asked before even realising what had come out of my mouth.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion and surprise, “Well, um, all the songs and poems make sense I guess! And um, you think of them all the time and when you do you get a silly little smile on your face... like the one you’re wearing now!”

I realised that I was smiling as I thought of Sherlock playing his violin and accompanying himself, humming away in his deep baritone voice as he swayed to the music he played. I cleared my throat as I felt a blush creeping up my neck.

Harry giggled joyfully, “Who are you in love with?”

Sighing, I said, “That’s the problem, it’s uh…”

“Just tell me!” she said, taking my hand.

I took a deep breath and decided to just get it out, “I think I have feelings for Sherlock. Romantically, I mean, and I don’t know what to do.”

Harry sat silently for a minute, digesting what I just told her. She looked surprised, but not completely shocked or repulsed like I thought she would be. She nodded slowly, “Okay, I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m glad you’ve come to me instead of running and hiding like you sometimes do!”

I laughed and shook my head, “It’s just… I’m so confused because I’ve never had an attraction to men before but Sherlock… I don’t know what it is about him but, he’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met.”

Harry smiled at me, “Wow, you’ve got it bad Johnny!”

“What? What do you mean?”

She laughed, “You’re in love! With Sherlock Holmes of all people!”

I looked away from her, “What do I do Harry? I’m not gay, I’m not but…”

Harry squeezed my hands like I had done to Sherlock so many times over the last twenty-four hours, “It’s not about orientation John! You’re in love with the person, his personality, not the body parts. Although, I’m not an expert but, I’m sure Sherlock’s parts aren’t all that repulsive to you!”

She giggled as I looked at her in somewhat horror before picking up on her teasing. I smiled and chuckled, “Well, he is quite aesthetically pleasing I suppose!”

Harry laughed, “Aesthetically pleasing?! That sounds like something he’d say!”

“Well…” I suggested with a shrug.

“No!” Harry exclaimed, “Did he say that to you?”

“I might have let slip that I thought he was beautiful and I had to explain the term to him in a way he would understand so, then he said he thought I was beautiful, in his own Sherlock way of course,” I said with a smile.

“That’s great John!” Harry said with a grin.

“But is it though?” I asked feeling lost again.

She cocked her head to the side in confusion, “Why wouldn’t it be? He’s shown that he might feel the same! That’s good, isn’t it?”

I sighed, “I don’t know, I just feel like… in his current state of mind I shouldn’t be thinking these things about him. I feel like I’m, I dunno, taking advantage of him or something.”

“John, surely if he didn’t feel comfortable with you helping him out, you would know about it. I think you just need to get him better and wait and see. In the meantime, don’t feel ashamed of your… I dunno, urges or whatever.”

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. She snorted, “Okay, poor choice of words, but my point still stands!”

I heard footsteps on the stairs and Mrs Hudson appeared, slightly befuddled looking, “John, dear, I’m sorry to interrupt but Sherlock’s asking for you.”

Harry gave me a look which made me roll my eyes, “Thanks, I’ll be up in a second.”

She smiled and bustled away. I turned to Harry, “Do you want to come up and see him?”

Harry smiled and nodded, “I would like that.”

We made our way up the stairs and I called Sherlock’s name as we entered the living room. He looked up like a startled cat, eyes wide, and said “You’re back!”

I smiled at him, “Yeah, I’m back. Are you okay?”

He nodded but I wasn’t sure I believed him as I looked him over. He looked panicked so I went over to the coffee table and sat in front of him, “Are you sure?”

Sherlock looked at me and said, “I’m fine it’s just, I can’t concentrate on anything… I keep trying to read but it makes my head hurt…”

As he said this, he dropped his head in his hands with a groan. I looked over to Harry who was watching worriedly, “Can you get some water and painkillers? There should be some in the top cupboard.”

She nodded and hurried off. I turned back to Sherlock, “What were you reading?”

He jerked his head to the side, indicating a thick stack of papers next to him with scribbled notes written all over the music staves, “You’ve been composing?”

Sherlock nodded, “I thought it would help to straighten my thoughts out.”

I smiled, typical Sherlock, but it was a good idea. If he put his emotions into his compositions then played them to me it might be an easier way for us to communicate.

“Can you play it for me?” I asked gently.

He looked up at me, confused. I smiled encouragingly at him and he tentatively picked up his violin, which was lying beside the couch. He began to play one of the most melancholy, heartbreaking pieces of music I have ever heard in my entire life. As he played, the deep sad notes washed over my soul and almost made me tear up.

Sherlock abruptly stopped playing, “That’s all I’ve got so far…”

I heard a sniffle from the doorway of the kitchen and I looked over to see Harry standing with a glass of water and tablets, tears running over her cheeks, “That was the saddest piece of music I’ve ever heard.”

Sherlock laid his violin down gently, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No! It, it was beautiful,” Harry said quietly as she went over and handed the glass to Sherlock, who looked at her with surprise but nodded his thanks as he took the glass. She gave him the painkillers and he smiled tightly as he accepted them. He looked at the little white tablets, but he didn’t move to take them.

He looked at them and shook his head. Uh oh, this was going to be a problem, “Sherlock? You need to take them so your head won’t hurt anymore.”

Sherlock shook his head, clamping his eyes shut. I sighed; he must have been drugged as well, perhaps some kind of date rape drug? I had to convince him to take them, but how?

“Sherlock? Look at me,” I said, placing a hand on his knee.

He looked at me gingerly, “I… I don’t know if… if I can…”

“Listen, you need to take them so you can feel better. Trust me! I’m a doctor,” I said with a smile.

He still looked uncertain but he put them in his mouth and swallowed. After he had taken them, he breathed heavily for a second, until calming slightly and nodding at me assuredly. I nodded before getting to my feet and talking quietly to my sister.

“Hey, um, I should probably keep an eye on him so…”

Harry nodded with a smile, “I’ll get out of your hair. You really look after him well, I think you’d be good together.”

I blinked, “Really? I thought you weren’t keen on Sherlock?”

She shrugged, “At first I thought he might be bad for you, but now I see he’s the best thing that could’ve happened to you. I see the way you look at him, and I see how happy he makes you. So for what it’s worth, you have my blessing.”

I was surprised to say the least, but I was grateful that she approved. I hugged her and said goodbye, telling her to keep in touch, to which she heartily agreed, saying she wanted to know hoe Sherlock went.

When Harry had gone, I went to my armchair and sat down with my laptop, watching Sherlock compose his new piece in contented silence.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for the wait but I had some trouble writing this scene. It was hard to get it right but I think it's pretty good :/  
> Feedback on this would be great cause this is their first big kiss so it would be great to know what y'all think :)

Eventually, Sherlock placed his violin down and stretched out on the couch. He slept quietly for a while under my watchful gaze before awaking with a spooked look in his eye. I put the television on to distract him, letting him flick mindlessly through the channels.

Before long, dark had fallen and I was trying desperately to coax Sherlock into eating something, anything. Sure enough though, I got him to eat a few pieces of toast. While I was eating my take-out Chinese that Sherlock was avoiding making eye contact with, I got a text from Mycroft telling me to go downstairs as there was a parcel for me. I did as instructed and found a bag of tablets with directions to give them to Sherlock.

Once again, I had to convince Sherlock to take the pills before he went to bed. It took some effort but I managed to get him to swallow them before leading him to his bedroom. When I started to leave, he grabbed at my hand.

“Will you stay with me again?” he asked hesitantly. “I don’t think I will be able to sleep without you…”

He trailed off, the words obviously making him uncomfortable. I swallowed nervously, “Um, yeah, sure. I’ll just get my pyjamas and then I’ll be back…”

I hurried up to my room and tried to calm my thoughts as I changed into my pyjamas. Sherlock wanted me to stay again. This was too much for me. My heart had skipped a beat when he had asked but now I realised that this might be difficult.

In an attempt to calm my nerves, I brushed my teeth and performed all other pre-sleep necessities slowly before making my way back to Sherlock’s door. I knocked hesitantly and upon hearing Sherlock’s bid for me to enter, took a breath and went in.

Sherlock was already in bed so I padded over to the other side and got under the covers. I stayed on my side and he stayed on his for the rest of the night.

 

The weeks that followed unfolded much in the same fashion as this first day did. I would phone Harry every so often for her advice regarding the detective but mostly Sherlock would play his violin, do experiments, watch TV idly and have flashbacks.

Although, as the weeks rolled into months, it became less of a struggle to get Sherlock to take his pills and eat, and slowly but surely I noticed him putting on some weight. He was still the stick of a man he used to be but there were no longer bones sticking out where they shouldn’t. His flashbacks slowly became less intense and further apart so I started weaning him off his medication.

And all this time, Sherlock and I were sharing a bed except, whereas the first nights we stayed mostly on opposite sides, over time we ended up sleeping in much closer proximity to each other. This as you can imagine was so confusing for me that there had been many frantic phone calls to Harry for desperate help.

She always convinced me to calm down and not to freak out when Sherlock sat too close or I woke up in the morning with his pale arms around my waist. Now that Sherlock was starting to feel better, I had been giving him problems to solve so he wouldn’t go stir crazy.

I filtered the cases on our websites and gave him small ones to solve, always feeling joyous when his eyes lit up upon hearing of a new problem to set his mind to, no matter how trivial.

My feelings for Sherlock hadn’t lessened or exactly increased as I had been so worried about trying to get him better but now that he was better, I didn’t know how to proceed. But Sherlock, being Sherlock, solved all these worries in his usual abnormal fashion.

 

I was sitting in my armchair while Sherlock sprawled on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin staring off into nothingness. I was glancing over my blog and stealing glances in Sherlock’s direction. We sat like this for a while until Sherlock sat up abruptly, eyeing me with his deduction face on.

I sighed, “What is it?” As Sherlock had gotten better, our casual bickering had begun to resurface now that Sherlock was no longer so sensitive due to his trauma.

Sherlock regarded me levelly, “I have noticed something lately. About you.”

I froze. Warning alarms were going off in my head; he had found out somehow! I tried to remain calm, “Oh yeah? What’s that then?”

“Well, you’re breath seems to hitch whenever I’m near you, you tense up when I touch you and sometimes your pupils dilate a fraction…”

Oh, shit, I thought. He had figured it out. I had been too obvious. Oh god, there was no way he would feel the same, what was I gonna say to him?

“… Also you often stare at me when you think no-one is looking as you were doing just now.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself but I closed it again knowing it was fruitless. He knew, there was no use in trying to deny it.

“My conclusion is that ever since I got back, you have become more emotionally attached and even physically attracted to me,” Sherlock concluded.

A pause; I decided the direct approach would be best.

“You’re right.”

Sherlock blinked, “I know I am.”

“So why did you bring it up?” I asked confused.

His brow furrowed, “Because, this shift in our relationship, I think needs addressing now that I am making a recovery.”

Now it was my turn to blink in surprise, “Right… So, um, what do you want to discuss exactly?”

Sherlock got to his feet and began pacing up and down the length of the living room, “Well, we have been sharing a bed for the past few months and I know that you have developed romantic feelings for me, but what I’ve been trying to discern for a while now is what this means for us.”

I did a double take, “Wait, there’s an ‘us’ now?”

Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned to me, “Do you want there to be?”

This was all far too confusing to me. We were talking in riddles and dancing around the issue which was making my head spin. I got to my feet and decided to try and make this simple.

“I do, yes. Do you… want this?”

The detective gazed at me with look in his grey eyes that I hadn’t seen in months; uncertainty and fear.

“I don’t know…” he began. He turned away from me and crossed to stand facing the mantle, “I, uh, I don’t know… um, how things like this work, is all. I’m not sure I could… give you what you need…”

I let go of a breath I had no idea I had been holding and made my way over to Sherlock, resting a gentle hand on his back, “I don’t either. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly an expert in long term relationships! But I think, if you wanted to, we could figure it out together?”

Sherlock turned to look at me, examining my face for sincerity before nodding the smallest nod hesitantly. I smiled at him and he smiled hesitantly back, a warm fuzzy feeling of hope spreading through my body.

“So, um,” he cleared his throat, “do I kiss you now?”

My eyebrows shot up, probably all the way to my hairline, in shock. I laughed in disbelief and nodded, “If you want to, yeah.”

He nodded back, “Yes, it’s just I’ve um, never actually, well, you know… I’m not sure I know what to do.”

I smiled, that was the most endearing thing he had ever said to me and it made my heart melt with utter joy. I nodded understandingly, leading him by the hand over to the couch, “It’s okay, I’ll show you.”

We sat down side by side, my hand still in his as the weight of the moment rested in my stomach. I was giddy and nervous at the same time but I was determined to make Sherlock’s first kiss the best one I had ever given in my life.

As I wrapped my free hand around the back of his head, he looked at me like a deer in the headlights of a car. I smiled and tried to reassure him with a nod. I realised this was not what Sherlock Holmes did, open himself up to feelings and attachment, so I knew how scary this must be for the self-proclaimed sociopath.

He smiled back and nodded, so I leant in closer, all my senses on overdrive in an attempt to capture this moment in my memory forever. Our noses were barely touching and I could feel Sherlock’s hot breath against my lips.

“Relax,” I whispered against his perfect Cupid’s bow lips, before closing the gap. I brushed my lips against his briefly, to get him used to me, before repeating this motion to taste Sherlock a second time. Then, I stayed longer against his lips, applying more pressure with my own, moving my mouth against him.

He was clumsy and unsure at first, but I kept moving my lips slowly over his until he caught up and realised what to do. As he relaxed into these chaste kisses, I decided to go further, daring to flick my tongue across his bottom lip.

Sherlock pulled back slightly in shock, running his own tongue over where mine had been moments before. I chuckled through my nose, as he tried to figure out what was happening. I moved in again, tongue darting out to taste him once more.

He tasted like tea and chocolate, as that had been all I had managed to convince him to eat earlier, and he smelled of a mixture of shampoo and the remnants of some unknown experiment. I applied pressure with my tongue, asking him to grant me access to his mouth.

He opened his mouth ever so slightly, letting me push in and explore. Sherlock moaned quietly under my onslaught, and experimentally brushed his tongue against my own. That tiny gesture damn near killed me as I felt his delicate, uncertain tongue glide easily against my own.

I let out the most ungodly sound as he continued to tickle me with his tongue. I could practically feel the smirk on his lips as Sherlock revelled in how easily his handiwork could undo me. I encouraged him to explore my mouth as I had done with his; he hesitantly brushed his tongue across my teeth, eliciting a moan from both of us.

He was an extremely fast learner and he wrapped his hands around my waist as he grew bolder. I slid my other hand up his torso, making him shiver. We finally broke apart, lips red and swollen, both of us panting desperately.

“Wow,” I gasped.

Sherlock gaped at me, lips beautifully parted, eyes wide, “My thoughts exactly.”

We both chuckled breathing in each other’s breath, resting our heads on the each other’s forehead.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short-ish chapter here but I wanted to get another one up quickly because you've all be so nice sticking with me on this story :)  
> Enjoy John's internal dilemma regarding his sexuality :D

“So that was, um, that was good, right?” Sherlock asked hesitantly, moving back slightly.

My head was spinning, who knew Sherlock would catch on so quick. I suppose I should have realised though, that he’s good at almost anything he puts his mind to.

“Yeah! That was, that was really good!” I reassured him with a goofy smile on my face I’m sure.

Sherlock smiled in relief and he reached out to gasp my hand, “Good. I enjoyed that. More than I thought I would…”

I cocked my head to the side as I looked at him curiously, “You’ve thought about kissing before then?”

“Not really,” Sherlock replied, looking down at our locked hands, “I’ve just never really understood the point of it is all. I thought it was strange to want to put your mouth against someone else’s…”

“But now?” I asked, sitting back further on the couch.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, wrinkling his nose adorably, “I don’t know. I did enjoy it, but I’m still not sure I understand what people hope to achieve through it other than spreading bacteria to improve our immune systems...”

I chuckled; it was so endearing watching him trying to figure out the main function of kissing someone. I decided to attempt to clarify things for him, “Well, it’s not about achieving something in particular; it’s more about letting the other person know that you care for them.”

Sherlock sat back on the couch shoulder to shoulder with me, seeming even more confused, “But I know that you care for me, so why do I need you to show it?”

“You’re missing the point!” I said incredulously. “All that matters is that you enjoy it with someone special.”

Sherlock’s eyes squinted the way he does when he’s thinking, “Okay. I suppose that will suffice for now. Maybe I can research more later… Will you, um, will you kiss me again?”

I beamed at him and shook my head, capturing his lips once more. This relationship was going to be trickier than I had anticipated…

 

Sherlock had eventually decided he wanted to go on the internet and try to discern the motive for kissing as it kept bugging him while we had been making out on the sofa. I was now sitting in my armchair and pretending to read the newspaper when in actual fact I was replaying the last hour in my head.

One second everything had been normal then suddenly he and Sherlock were snogging on our couch! Me and Sherlock Holmes had been snogging. I could barely fathom it was real. I shot a quick text off to Harry, telling her what had happened and although I was incredibly happy, I was also more than mildly terrified.

True I had wanted this for months. In particular the last few weeks I had been waking up in Sherlock’s arms with a screaming hard on. Not even doing anything, just him touching me skin on skin, was enough to get me hard.

Thankfully I had restrained my, well, urges for lack of a better word, whilst giving Sherlock his first mind-blowing kiss, but now I was starting to worry that I would ask too much of him. The idea that my need for him would push us into something neither of us were ready for, and risking pushing him away, was making me nauseous.

What if I pushed him too far too fast? It would freak him out. It would probably freak me out too. I had never been with a man before and although the taste of Sherlock still on my tongue was wondrous, my desires towards him were freaking me out a little bit.

My phone buzzed. It was Harry:

 

‘Wow! Congratz! I told u he liked u back! Was it good? :P’

 

I shook my head; of course she’d want to know details. I sent one back, saying it was amazing but that my physical wants were scaring me a little. She replied almost immediately:

 

‘Don’t worry! He’s never done this before either, u can both learn at the same time! This may sound strange but you could watch male porn to help…’

 

I choked on the very oxygen I was inhaling at Harry’s last suggestion. Porn? Really? I got that research was important but somehow watching porn with Sherlock was NOT on my list of kinky things to try with him. I said this very thing to Harry but she replied quickly:

 

‘No! Ew! I mean to help you both understand what you’d be doing! You both wouldn’t be so scared if u knew what to expect ;)’

 

I understood her point, but guy on guy porn? I wasn’t sure I could do that. I said I would think it over and that I would talk to her later. By this time, Sherlock had closed his laptop (which I think was actually mine) and had gotten to his feet.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked nonchalantly, trying not to wonder what he had found upon Google-ing kissing.

“I discovered that although its primary function is to arouse the contributing parties for intercourse and the testing of a potential mate’s genetic fit, it is also to cement an emotional bond as you said before,” Sherlock said, turning over the information as he said it.

I was pleased to hear that I had been right, “So does that help?”

Sherlock thought for a moment before sitting on the arm of my chair and dumping his lanky legs in my lap, “Yes, I think it has. Can we try again? Now that I understand it more now I think I might be better…”

“You don’t have to ask every time you want to kiss me Sherlock,” I explain patiently, pulling him down fully into my lap.

As he adjusted his position he queried, “But then how do I know that you’ll want me to or not?”

“I guess you’ll just have to try and find out,” I replied with a grin, pulling him close.


	14. Chapter 14

After more kissing, Sherlock had curled up in my lap like a kitten, resting his head on my shoulder and sighed contentedly, “This is nice.”

I smiled, hugging him tighter to me, “I’m glad you think so. By the way, you are a very fast learner.”

Sherlock smiled, “I think it is appropriate in this situation to say that I had an excellent teacher!”

I chuckled and we sat snuggled together in comfortable silence for a while until Sherlock sat up, looking down at where his hand was rubbing my shoulder, “John, I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh oh, that’s never a good sign!” I commented, mostly to cover up my nerves at being addressed in such an ominous manner.

Sherlock chuckled, a deep rich baritone rumble, “Quite. John, I don’t know what you expect from me. I know that you want sex but I don’t know, um, when I can give that to you… Because of, you know, what happened with Moran and all…”

I nodded, thinking. The fact that I wanted sex with another man at all was terrifying, but I knew that after what Sherlock had been through, the sexual abuse he endured, what I was feeling must be ten times worse for him. He was so timid and new to this, whatever it was we had, so I said carefully, “That’s okay. I’m not sure I’m ready yet either.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in confusion, “But, I’ve seen all the signs of arousal in you, I know you want me that way…”

“Yes, that’s true,” I interrupted patiently, “but I’ve never been with a man before. I, um, I’m still trying to figure this out. So I don’t want to rush things between us, I think that when we’re ready we’ll both know it.”

Sherlock pursed his lips, thinking, “I think I understand what you mean. We’ll just wait and see?”

I nodded, “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“Alright,” Sherlock said, wrapping his arms tighter around me, “So, do you want to keep our, um, relationship, a secret for now? Considering you’re feelings about our situation being of a homosexual nature?”

I sighed, “Maybe just for a little while, until we get used to… this.”

He nodded and kissed me lightly on the temple, “I understand.”

 

The next few days passed with some awkwardness on occasion as we tested the boundaries that we were comfortable with. Now that our relationship had swung towards a romantic nature, Sherlock had become more cautious when we touched. Whereas before he would often go to bed in nothing but his boxers and I would comfort him by holding him, now he would now wear a t-shirt (often one of mine) and sometimes even slacks before letting me touch him in bed.

I respected this extra security Sherlock felt was necessary. After what Moran did to him, of course he was going to be a bit jumpy when it came to intimate exchanges and touching. I was fine with the extra layer of clothing between us at night but I always felt guilty when I would reach out without thinking and touch him in a marginally intimate place, like his thigh or in particular his hip, and Sherlock would flinch away from me.

I always felt terrible for reminding him of what happened but at the same time, I knew that I couldn’t keep apologising for wanting to be close to him. Sherlock always told me that it was fine, that he would get over it eventually but I wondered sometimes, if only for a moment, that perhaps we couldn’t get past his trauma.

Then I would shake myself and just be thankful that there was a ‘we’ at all. Sherlock Holmes was mine and I held a piece of him that no one else has ever possessed, making me feel as though my heart would burst with joy.

One morning in particular I woke to Sherlock’s sweet music floating through to our shared room. I got up with a smile and padded into the kitchen in my boxers and one of Sherlock’s far too large dressing gowns, leaning against the doorway into the living room with a smile.

Sherlock turned around and smiled at me, continuing to play but wishing me a good morning as he walked closer to me.

“Good morning,” I replied as he finished with a flourish right in front of me. I ran a hand through Sherlock’s sleep tousled hair, “That was lovely.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, letting me pull him down by his curls a plant a wet morning kiss upon his Cupid’s bow that I love so much.

Sherlock grabbed my hand and led me into the living room, turning to stand behind me.

“What are you doing?” I asked curiously.

“Teaching you,” Sherlock replied matter-of-factly as he placed the violin on my shoulder and wrapped my fingers around the instrument, “Don’t grip it too tightly, that’s right.”

He placed the bow in my right hand and lifted it to the strings before arranging my left fingers over some strings and changing little things about how I was positioned, “Arch your fingers more, that’s better. Lighter on the bow, there you are.”

Sherlock guided the bow we both held over the strings and assisted me in playing the first few notes of ‘London Bridge Is Falling Down’.

I chuckled, “Seriously? Bit old for kids songs aren’t we?”

“Not when you’re just learning,” Sherlock purred into my ear. I shivered as his hot breath tickled my ear, before Sherlock planted a tiny peck on the top of it.

I hummed and leant further back into Sherlock’s embrace. He continued assisting me as we played slowly through ‘London Bridge’, but Sherlock began to nibble on my ear, making concentrating very difficult.

Our proximity and Sherlock’s attentions to my right ear meant I was developing a hard on just from his kisses. I tried to tell Sherlock, because whenever either of us got a bit too excited we would alert the other and back off, but that didn’t happen this morning.

“Sherlock,” I whispered. It was supposed to be a warning but it came out like a desperate whimper.

Sherlock hummed and moved his kisses down my neck. I tilted my head to the side to allow him more access, against my better judgement, but it just felt so damned good. The dressing gown I wore had slipped slightly, exposing my bare shoulder.

Sherlock pressed open mouthed kisses across my shoulder before biting down, drawing an undignified groan from me. My brain was telling me to stop him but instead I dropped the violin bow and reached around to caress the nape of Sherlock’s neck, pulling on his curls, encouraging him to bite harder.

He complied before licking and kissing at the aggravated skin. Sherlock reached around, his hand exploring my abdomen and trailing up to brush a thumb over a nipple, all the while moving to scrape his teeth over my Adam’s apple. I gasped and let my head fall back against the taller man’s shoulder, head spinning.

Sherlock dropped the violin on my armchair, running his now free hand down over my boxer covered hip, down my thigh. In a desperate need for support I grasped around behind me where I found Sherlock’s left cheek, squeezing hard.

When Sherlock froze, I came rocketing back to reality, all arousal induced fuzziness disappeared from my mind and I let go of Sherlock’s arse instantly.

Uh oh.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes is on a new case this chapter! Yay! This case is inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle's 'The Red-Headed League' story :)  
> Enjoy!

Sherlock let go of me and stumbled backwards into the mantel, eyes wide and unblinking, breathing wildly and uncontrolled. I turned to him, a hand over my mouth in horror, “Sherlock, oh god, I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to… I just, I didn’t think…

He was breathing heavily, leaning against the mantelpiece for support, but he whispered, “No, it, it’s not y-your fault. It’s n-no-one’s fault. We both got a bit, um, carried away…”

I approached him slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder, not saying anything. Sherlock grasped my hand in his own and squeezed, as if to reassure himself that it was really me and not Moran that was touching him. I rested my head on our intertwined hands, placing a kiss on Sherlock’s gently, whispering how sorry I was.

“Don’t be sorry, John,” Sherlock whispered back, voice cracking slightly. “It’s not you. I just, I want you… I want to be close to you but…”

“Shhh,” I crooned, stroking his cheek with my free hand, “I know, it’s okay, I understand.”

Sherlock rested his head against mine and we stayed silently like that until I felt his muscles, which had tensed upon my touch, relax. I was about to say something else but my phone buzzed from the other side of the room. I placed another chaste kiss to Sherlock’s hand before crossing to pick up my phone, readjusting Sherlock’s dressing gown over the developing hickey on my shoulder.

It was Lestrade; he had texted me with a curious problem he needed help with, asking after Sherlock’s health. I turned to Sherlock and asked him if he felt up to returning to work.

Sherlock nodded, “I’ll go get dressed.”

I noticed Sherlock walking off slightly gingerly, like a dog caught sleeping on its owner’s bed.

“Sherlock,” I called before he could disappear into the bedroom. He stopped and raised an eyebrow at me.

I swallowed nervously, not wanting to ask but finding that I had to know, “Where you a virgin before… well, you know.”

A pained look filled Sherlock’s eyes and he looked away from me in shame, “Yes. Moran knew and… well, I suppose it was just another way to make me suffer. Something else he could take from me…”

I nodded, fighting the lump in my throat. I turned away in an attempt to give Sherlock his space when he spoke again, “I don’t think it counts though.”

I turned back to him in surprise to find him gazing at me with a bold looks in his eyes, “What doesn’t count?”

“What Moran did,” he explained in a defiant voice that shook only slightly. “As I understand it, sexual acts should be undertaken with consent and should induce pleasure for both parties. What was done to me was neither.”

Sherlock approached me with a fire in his eyes that I had not seen in him since before The Fall, “I realise we both need time, but when we’re ready, you are going to show me how it is supposed to be. You are going to show me that there is more to sex than just pain and torture. You’re not going to have sex with me… you are going to make love to me.”

An unintentional tear escaped from my eye, sliding down my cheek at Sherlock’s words. They were so defiant and beautiful; he had spoken without fear, something that Sherlock hadn’t done for a long time. Well, there was fear, terror in fact, but he wasn’t going to let Moran’s actions ruin what we could have.

“Okay,” I managed, nodding empathetically. A lone tear rolled down Sherlock’s pale cheek, and I swept it away with my thumb, unable to bear seeing him in pain. Sherlock cautiously kissed me on the forehead before turning away and disappearing into the bathroom.

 

I was glad that Sherlock was finally back at work outside the confines of Baker Street as we entered Scotland Yard. Sherlock’s mind needed occupying and he walked with confidence through the office despite the looks that were thrown our way. He waltzed into Greg’s office with a swish of his coat, just like he used to which brought a smile to my face.

“Something you need assistance with Detective Inspector?” Sherlock asked.

“And hello to you too,” Greg retorted with good natured sarcasm. “Glad to see you looking better than you were last time you were in my office!”

Sherlock smiled tightly as Lestrade, “You said something about a case?”

Greg nodded and led them towards one of the conference rooms, “Mr Jabez Wilson came to us this morning with a very curious problem. Considering he thinks you are unavailable for the moment, Sherlock, he came to us instead of to you. He’s in here. I’ll let you interrogate him yourself but I can assure you you’re going to like this one!”

Sherlock entered after throwing a tiny but excited smile my way, brushing my arm deliberately as he went. I leant closer to Greg before following him inside, “This won’t be too much for him will it?”

“I don’t think this will be too strenuous for him,” Greg said with a smile. “Good to see him out and about though!”

I nodded, returning his smile, closing the door behind me as I was greeted inside by Mr Wilson’s alarmingly bright red hair and Sherlock sitting with steepled fingers across from him. I sat down in the empty chair next to him and waited for Sherlock to begin.

“Mr Wilson, I have been informed that you have an unusual problem to which I think I may be able to provide an answer, providing it is not utterly dull. I’m assuming it has something to do with the frankly alarming amount of typing you have been doing lately.”

I smiled to myself; Sherlock had reverted to form slightly then.

Wilson was astonished at Sherlock’s deduction but took a breath and launched into the following story;

“Well, you’re right Mr Holmes, I have been typing and it is to some extent why I’m here. Last week, I received an e-mail inviting me to join something called The Red-Headed League. They offered three hundred and fifty pounds a week to do some ministerial work for them.”

“That’s a lot of money just for some typing,” I mused.

Sherlock nodded, “What did you do for a living Mr Wilson, before the League contacted you.”

“Well, I have a little tobacconist’s shop on the corner of Coburg Square but business has been slow lately so when I got this message, well I leapt at the opportunity! So I left my shop in the hands of my assistant, Vincent Spaulding. When I showed up at the given time at an address on the other side of town, and a man called Duncan Ross met me in a dingy little office, telling me what I had to do.

“He said I was to type out the history of the building that was only ever hand written. I thought this was weird but I thought for the money they were offering I had scored big you know. They only asked me in for four hours every morning and this went on for eight weeks.”

“Eight weeks and you never thought to ask what this was all about,” Sherlock asked with incredulity before turning to me with a roll of his eyes, “You see? Normal people are so terribly stupid.”

I raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask him wether I was classified under ‘normal people’ to which Sherlock gave me the tiniest wink, as if to say I was the exception to that rule. I smiled and turned back to Wilson, “Sorry about Sherlock, he’s never been one for tact.”

“Ugh, tact is tedious!” Sherlock exclaimed. “But yes, do continue.”

Wilson looked put out but continued, “Well, then I received another email, just before I was going in to the League’s office, saying that the League had been disbanded.”

“What, just overnight?” I asked, confused.

Wilson nodded, “I couldn’t understand it so I went to the office to check and the building was empty. That’s when I decided to involve the police. I thought something sinister might be going on.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut with a grimace on his face, “Yes, well I’m glad it took you eight weeks to come to this very obvious conclusion.”

I bit my lip to hold back a giggle as Wilson became increasingly deterred.

“Well, you’re lucky that I’m very bored at the moment so I will take your case,” Sherlock said with a sigh as though it caused him physical pain. He got to his feet and left the interrogation room to find Lestrade standing outside.

“Well? What do you think?” Greg asked with a smile, “Weird, huh?”

“Odd certainly, though I expect I will have the answers Mr Wilson is looking for by this time tomorrow.”

Greg looked shocked as Sherlock strode passed him, already hot on the trail of this bizarre case. I smiled, “Nice to see you Greg.”

I followed Sherlock out with glee as I saw how happy he was to back in the field, no matter how simple he found this strange problem.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter before Christmas. Been busy, sorry guys! Bit of a case and a bit of fluff. What else do you need for Christmas! :)  
> Thanks for your patience, hopefully there will be a new chapter asap :)

Sherlock strode forwards out of Scotland Yard to hail a cab. As we waited I asked him what he made of Wilson’s peculiar circumstances.

“Oh, John, I think this is the perfect case to get me back on my feet,” Sherlock answered joyously as a cab pulled up. He opened the door for me and then followed me into the cab. “Coburg Square please.”

“Aren’t we going to the League’s offices first?” I asked in confusion.

“Oh no, there’ll be nothing of use there,” Sherlock stated. “The real intrigue is at the scene of Mr Wilson’s tobacconist shop!”

I decided just to let this strange affair unfold without pushing Sherlock for details. He was happy so I was happy. Sherlock placed a hand on my thigh and squeezed, bringing a smile to my face, before returning his hand to his lap and tapping impatiently on his leg.

We sat in comfortable silence until I realised something. I leant closer to Sherlock and said quietly, “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you open the door for me because you were being a gentleman or because you wanted to catch a glimpse of my arse?” I asked suspiciously.

Sherlock grinned and raised his eyebrows at me, saying with a laugh, “Whichever helps you sleep at night my dear doctor!”

I glared half-heartedly at him before paying the cabbie as we arrived at our destination. The tobacconist shop was small and dark; Sherlock approached and took in every detail. He spun around abruptly, almost flicking me with the tails of his coat, eyes darting around the square and taking in every other building in the vicinity. He walked to the end of the street, looked around and returned to the front of the shop.

Just as suddenly as he had whirled around, he dropped into a crouching position, eyes gazing across the street. Sherlock glanced back at the tobacconist’s shop before peering across the road again. He leapt to his feet and began jumping up and down on the pavement.

I raised a questioning brow at him before looking around to see how much attention he was attracting. Sherlock turned back to the tobacconist’s shop, entering the shop and taking in every detail. I followed him, hanging back as he approached the young man behind the counter.

“Hello, sorry I was wondering if you could direct me to the London Eye? I haven’t been in town very long, sorry,” Sherlock babbled as though he were a flustered tourist. “Would you mind awfully coming and showing me…?”

The young man smiled tightly and led the way back to the door. Sherlock looked speedily around behind the counter before following Vincent Spaulding. He gave directions, gazing out into the street, allowing Sherlock to observe him without being spotted.

I noticed a tiny smile come to his lips as he obviously found what he was looking for, before thanking Spaulding and crossing the road. I followed silently as Sherlock strode to the next block before standing on the corner and gazing around.

After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and straightened his scarf, before turning to me, “Well, I think that about wraps it up, don’t you?”

I shook my head with a laugh, “Do you really think I have any idea what you’re thinking right now?”

Sherlock smiled, moving close enough to whisper to me, “I’m thinking how beautiful you are.”

All the breath suddenly left my lungs, the sound of his deep baritone in my ear saying such things took my breath away. I blushed, stepping away slightly with an anxious chuckle.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and took another step towards me, “And now, I’m thinking that you should come and have lunch with me.”

I chuckled again, “I think that’s a great idea.” We started walking down the street, past the City Bank as I said, “So I assume you’ve solved the case already?”

“Oh yes, very straightforward case!” Sherlock mused. He smiled at my disbelieving yet affectionate look, “I expect we shall wrap it up completely tonight.”

I shook my head with a sigh, “Okay, whatever you say!”

We entered a restaurant and sat down in an intimate, deserted corner. I gazed around suspiciously as I was handed a menu by Sherlock, “Are we in this tiny corner so we can act like a couple without being seen?”

Sherlock looked over his menu with a cheeky look in his eye. I shook my head before consulting my menu. We ordered quickly and as soon as we were alone, I reached across and grabbed the detective’s hand.

“You are so brilliant,” I said quietly.

Sherlock smiled smugly, “Oh, I know!”

I glared at him before laughing at him, “How do I deserve you?”

Sherlock frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m an old broken soldier with an occasional psychosomatic limp! And you, you’re beautiful, clever, generous and, well, you’re Sherlock Holmes! I’m so lucky.”

Sherlock sighed theatrically, “As usual John, you are completely wrong! I’m the lucky one. You’ve taken such good care of me over the last months. I was so lost and you were so amazing. You are the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. I’ve never known anyone like you John.”

I was so moved by this sentiment. I smiled and brought his hand to my lips, pressing a sweet kiss to the back. He smiled back but quickly pulled away as the waitress came back with our meals.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock’s openness in our relationship astonished me. I had thought it would be strange to be close to him romantically, like I would be getting disembodied fingers for valentine’s day or something, but he was surprisingly open, even romantic.

Well, maybe romantic was the wrong word. Rather he tolerated my soppy tendencies of hugging him from behind, or pulling him closer to spoon me in bed (usually I’m the little spoon). I had been pleasantly surprised by his behaviour, finding his uncertainty and confusion towards romantic gestures endearing.

One such endearing thing happened as we were eating lunch that very day. During our meal, I moved my leg under the table towards where Sherlock’s own long limb was resting. I rubbed my leg against his, making him stiffen and tilt his head to the side in confusion. His brow furrowed, asking the unspoken question.

I leaned in with a roll of my eyes, “It’s a thing that couples do… play footsie under the table.”

Sherlock regarded me evenly, rubbing against my leg in return, “Why? I don’t understand.”

I shrugged, “I dunno. They just do. I suppose it’s a thing to be close to each other but subtly.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, continuing to run his leg against mine, “Is this a romantic thing again?”

Smiling, I chuckled, “I suppose, yeah! I think its sweet…”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me, a tiny smirk on his lips, “Very well…”

We continued eating our meal, all the while being cheeky under the table and exchanging small grins. It was as though this was all extra exciting because no one knew for sure that it was even happening. It made me feel more secure as well as making the whole situation a bit sexier…

After our meal, we took a cab back to Baker Street (this time I held the door for Sherlock in order to get a view of my own) and settled in for the afternoon. As I sat down on the couch and turned the TV on, waiting for Sherlock to fill the empty space next to me, he tapped a message out on his phone, pacing around the room.

Once the message was sent, he threw the phone onto the desk before slumping on the couch, accepting his usual position beneath my arm, leaning into my chest. I splayed my open hand over Sherlock’s taught chest, kissing his curls as the detective got comfortable.

“What was that about?” I murmured into his midnight hair.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just finalising some things with Scotland Yard,” Sherlock answered.

I mumbled back, too content with our current position to enquire further. I brought my other hand up to run through his curls, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and kissing his scalp lightly.

“Why do you have such an obsession with my hair?” Sherlock inquired innocently.

“Because it’s gorgeous,” I replied plainly, tucking stray locks behind his ear. As my fingers brushed the shell of his ear, I got distracted by the feel of the flesh covered cartilage beneath my digits. I began to pull on his earlobe while I bent to kiss the shell.

“Mmm, I think I understand. Focus on insignificant detail shows depth of affection, correct?” Sherlock hypothesised, seemingly ignoring my nibbling.

I mumbled in agreement, not taking my mouth from Sherlock’s ear. Running my tongue along the edge, I trailed my fingers down his delicious neck, caressing every contour.

“For instance,” Sherlock continued thoughtfully, “I find your hands extremely enticing…” He took the hand that was on his neck and turned it over in one of his own. “Especially your fingers… they’re fingers that heal with tenderness and care…” He kissed one of my fingers delicately, making me hum appreciatively, “but they can deal such violence with the same precision…” He licked the inside of the next finger from base to tip, drawing another hum from me as I buried my face in his neck.

“Calloused; they’ve seen pain and hardship but haven’t lost their careful kindness…” Sherlock drew the next finger into his mouth, sucking on it gently. I moaned into Sherlock’s neck, kissing and nibbling on the pale flesh there, licking the slight scar tissue that remained there.

In need to touch Sherlock, I ran my free hand over his torso, finding one of his pecks and squeezing it lightly, making Sherlock groan around my finger. The rumble of his deep baritone around my finger was a delightful sensation that made me feel light headed.

I grazed my lips and teeth over his jaw, moving to his cheekbone. I loved his cheekbones and I bit down on the one beneath my lips. Sherlock sighed as he released my finger, placing his hands over mine and moving them; the one on his peck down to his silk covered abdomen and the other inside the collar of his shirt.

Sherlock’s assertiveness was making my stomach flutter and the feel of his body under my hands sent a shock through my body, ultimately culminating in my lap. As he guided my hands all over his flesh, in particular directing me to a nipple, his head fell back against me; eyes closed and mouth slightly agape in a silent sigh.

I tweaked the nipple he had directed me to, eliciting the dirtiest sound I had ever heard come out of Sherlock’s mouth, “Hng, John…”

I licked the corner of his mouth before Sherlock turned and mashed his lips against mine in a downright filthy snog. My trousers had become uncomfortably tight, my hardness pressing against Sherlock’s back. He tried to encourage my hand further down from his abdomen but I pulled away from his mouth, halting our hands.

“No, Sherlock wait,” I gasped breathlessly into his mouth. I looked into his dilated grey orbs, certain mine were exactly the same, “You’re not… we’re not ready yet.”

Sherlock pulled away slightly and I could see his rational self fall back into place, retaking control of his passion. He took in the situation and for the first time seemed to fully notice my erection pressing into his back and his own straining trousers, “Oh god. I’m so sorry John. I didn’t mean…”

“Don’t be sorry,” I cupped his face in my hands and pressed a tender kiss to his clammy forehead, “We both got really worked up there!”

Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against mine. I could tell how upset he was that he had gone too far. I wanted to do something for him, something that wouldn’t be too much for them. And I had the perfect thing.

“Why don’t we do something else instead, but just as satisfying,” I suggested quietly.

Sherlock opened his eyes questioningly, “Like what?”

I pulled back and led him to the bedroom, “Why don’t we just pleasure ourselves instead?”

I closed the door and moved to the bed, laying myself out on it as Sherlock looked me over hungrily yet confused, “You mean like masturbate in front of each other?”

I chuckled, “We really need to work on your bedside manner…”

 

TO BE CONTINUED...


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers! Smutty smut for you today ;)  
> I dont write much of it so I hope it's okay :)  
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers! Smutty smut for you today ;)  
> I dont write much of it so I hope it's okay :)  
> Enjoy!

I moved my hands towards my belt and undid it slowly. Sherlock licked his lips and took a step forward, eyes glued to my hands. I threw the belt to the floor and undid my trousers slowly, determined to give him a good show.

“Wait, stop,” Sherlock said desperately.”

I stopped abruptly, concerned, “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just, um… I’ve never actually, properly, um…”

I sat up incredulously, “You mean you’ve never… touched yourself before?”

He shook his head uncertainly. I was incredulous, “Not even when you were a teenager?”

Again he shook his head with a shrug, “I didn’t see the point. Seemed tedious.”

“But, what happened if you woke up with… well, morning wood?”

“I would have a cold shower and it would go away,” he said matter-of-factly. “The only sexual experience I’ve had was with…”

“Moran,” I whispered gently. I got to my feet and took his hand, leading him gently to the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry that’s been your only experience. But I’m going to change that.”

Sherlock looked frightened as we sat down together, “But, I don’t know how. Well, I know in theory but… Moran… I don’t know John…”

I nodded understandingly, cupping his face supportively, “It’s okay. I understand, but I’m going to and you’re going to watch, alright? For future reference.” I said with a smile before pecking his lips and moving up on the bed.

He turned and watched me uncertainly as I lay down on the bed, supported by pillows so I could see Sherlock’s face. I indicated for him to come closer and tentatively, he crawled up to sit beside me.

He looked uncomfortable so I said, “It’s okay. It won’t be awkward, I promise.”

Sherlock nodded and licked his lips again as I moved my hands back to my trouser fly. I undid the zip and pushed the band over my hips to rest around my thighs, my eyes never leaving Sherlock’s. My cock stood erect, tenting my boxers and I began by palming myself through the thin material.

I moaned at the sweet friction, watching Sherlock as his lips parted slightly and his pupils dilated. I smiled to myself, I had thought our first sexual experience would be awkward and weird because of my uncertainty towards my newfound sexuality and Sherlock’s lack of experience. But now in this moment, I didn’t feel weird or uncomfortable. I felt content, at peace and helplessly turned on by Sherlock watching me.

I decided to go all the way and take off my boxers, sliding them down to join my trousers, cold air hitting my hot member. I watched Sherlock as he let out a shaky breath, eyes glued to my groin. Trailing my hand down through the rough hair to rest at the base, I began to thrust into my fist.

Groaning, I pressed my thumb over the slit at the end, spreading pre-come over my cock and continued fisting myself under Sherlock’s hungry gaze. The way he watched me, like I was something to be devoured, made me thrust harder and moan louder.

“Oh John, you are so beautiful," Sherlock breathed, voice an octave lower and dripping with arousal.

I groaned at his words, feeling my abdomen contract with heat. I slowed down my pace and turned to Sherlock, “Touch yourself. Just for me. Right here through your trousers…”

Sherlock whimpered and thrust against his open palm, making him groan in pleasure which made me even harder. I increased the pace again as he rocked against his palm, both of us watching the other through hooded lids. I felt my balls contract, heat gathering in my abdomen and I shouted Sherlock’s name as a came hard into my hand.

Sherlock soon followed, spilling fluid into his pants with a cry. I slumped on the bed, looking heatedly over at Sherlock, “That was... incredible!”

Sherlock fell back against the pillows too with a shaky exhalation, “Oh. My. God. John.”

I laughed breathlessly and asked him to pass me some tissues. He did and watched closely as I cleaned myself up, throwing the soiled tissues away afterwards. I went to do up my pants again but Sherlock stopped my hand, taking in my entire body.

“You are so stunning,” Sherlock said breathlessly.

I chuckled, bringing the hand that stopped me to my lips and pressing a kiss to it, “Flatterer!”

Sherlock smiled and chuckled uneasily as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I pulled my pants back up and adjusted them appropriately before leaning in and kissing Sherlock sweetly. He returned the kiss enthusiastically, pulling me closer to him. I felt the wet patch in Sherlock’s groin and pulled away with a grimace.

“I think you should go and have a shower,” I said.

Sherlock hummed in agreement and kissed me deeply once more before getting to his feet and making his way to the bathroom. I followed him on shaky legs and stood in the doorway as he began to undress.

He looked at me over his shoulder and said cheekily, “Come to see the show?”

I hummed appreciatively as he took his shirt off slowly, facing me now and undoing each button excruciatingly slowly. I licked my lips and wolf whistled as he let the shirt fall to the floor provocatively.

“Hmm, like that do you?” Sherlock teased, walking towards me and stepping out of his trousers. By the time he was right in front of me, he was in nothing but his boxers. I looked him up and down shamelessly with appreciative eyes.

Running my hands up his arms, over his shoulders and down to rest on his pecks, I crooned quietly, “Hmm, you’re so perfect…” I placed open-mouthed kisses across his chest, occasionally leaving little love bites where no one would see but him.

Sherlock scoffed, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist, “Hardly. I’m scarred and abused and broken. Even before Moran I was by no means perfect, even less so now…”

He was talking about his scars but truthfully I hardly even noticed them anymore. They were just Sherlock. I knew he wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said so I tried something different; I licked the large scar across his chest from underneath his nipple up to his clavicle.

Sherlock sighed shakily but I continued to kiss and lick at every scar, except the ones around his hips of course, showing how much they didn’t matter to me, “You are perfect. Every flaw, every scar, everything.”

“Thank you John,” Sherlock whispered into my ear, voice breaking slightly. I stood on my toes and kissed him gently.

“My pleasure!”

Sherlock turned and started the water, signalling me that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. I turned to go but stopped at the door when Sherlock called out my name.

He pushed his boxers down just enough so I could see the brand Moran gave him, “I want to get it cosmetically removed. I don’t want Him on me, still tainting me from where ever he is. I want to belong to you completely.”

I blinked, eyes watery at his sentiment, clearing my throat before I spoke, “I’ll talk to Sarah at the clinic, see if I can get you in to see a surgeon who can remove it.”

Sherlock nodded and smiled a tiny smile before turning back to the shower. I closed the door and returned to the living room, lying on the couch feeling completely drained, emotionally and physically. I closed my eyes and saw only Sherlock as I drifted into blissful sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

It was late afternoon when I awoke with an uncomfortable twinge in my bad shoulder. I groaned involuntarily as I sat up slightly, trying to work the dull ache from my war wound. I heard the scraping of a chair from the kitchen before Sherlock appeared in the living room.

“Afternoon sleeping beauty,” he said with a hint of sarcasm and affection, a tiny smirk on his perfect lips.

I groaned again but this time more out of protest than pain, “Beauty huh? I can live with that!” I winced as I rolled my shoulder again.

Sherlock came over to the couch and sat down next to me, placing his hands on my shoulder and rubbing gently. I hummed in pleasure as he expertly worked at the stiffness in the old wound. I hissed when he pressed too hard in the wrong place, earning a mumbled apology in my ear. I shrugged my shoulders and turned to face Sherlock.

“Hmm, that was nice. You should do that more often when it aches,” I said quietly.

Sherlock smiled and hummed back. He leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose quickly before getting to his feet and heading back to the kitchen. I stood up with a tired stretch and followed him in, putting the kettle on to boil.

Once that was done, I turned to find Sherlock seated at the dining table peering into his microscope and examining some strange smelling specimens. I slid my arms around his shoulders tenderly, kissing his temple, “What are you looking at?”

“Something boring that you most certainly will not be interested in,” he said matter-of-factly without looking up.

“It smells weird,” I said with a distasteful wrinkle of my nose.

“I could explain why but you would lose interest and probably scold me because of where it came from,” Sherlock replied.

“Hmm, you’re right, I don’t wanna know,” I agreed, turning back to the boiling kettle.

“I know. I’m usually always right…”

I rolled my eyes and asked him if he wanted anything but was promptly ignored, so I took my tea and slouched into my arm chair. There was a hush over the flat, making me concerned about Sherlock’s feelings regarding what they had done earlier. But, as I thought more about it, this was often the state of the flat and Sherlock often ignored me completely.

I shook myself mentally and told myself to stop reading things into the situation. We were silent for the next few minutes and I was just about to turn the telly on when Sherlock came and unexpectedly plonked himself unceremoniously in my lap. I groaned in protest and surprise as he curled up like a giant cat in my lap.

We sat like that in comfortable silence, me playing with Sherlock’s curls and him nuzzling into my neck, until he mumbled something unintelligible into my clavicle.

“Hmm?”

“I said that later on in the evening we are going to go out and wrap up this case,” Sherlock said louder.

“We are?”

“Yep. Nothing drastic or dangerous, and don’t worry, Lestrade will be there so we won’t be in any peril.”

“Okay. I suppose you’re not going to tell me your plan, are you?” I questioned suspiciously.

Sherlock looked at me with faux innocence, “I was thinking that we could go and have a late dinner then go and catch the culprits of this peculiar case.”

I nodded, eyes narrowing in playful distrust, “Okay… Whatever you say…”

“As always,” Sherlock whispered with a sly smirk.

“Oh shut up,” I replied, pulling him closer to me.

 

Later that night, Sherlock and I were sitting in a café across from the bank that was around the corner from our client’s tobacconist shop. I was nursing a cup of tea whilst Sherlock was reclining in his chair and gazing intently across the road.

“So, are we waiting for anything in particular or what?” I asked, blowing on my beverage.

Sherlock quirked a non-committal eyebrow in my general direction before looking at his watch. The action prompted me to mirror it; 11:30.

We had gone out to dinner at nine and by the time we were done it was ten. We had chatted for a little while but eventually Sherlock grew distant. Now we were sitting here and because I had no idea what we were waiting for, I was observing Sherlock.

I drank him in as I sipped on my tea; with the light reflecting on one side of his face from the café, he looked positively angelic. His cheek was in shadow below his cheekbone and his grey eyes were shining. Then I noticed something worrying.

Sherlock’s hands were shaking. Badly.

He was trying to conceal it by clasping is hands in his lap but I knew. I could see it.

“Sherlock,” I said, putting my cup down and leaning forwards, “your hands are shaking.”

He released a shaky breath and said in an unstable voice, “I realise that John. Unless there’s something you can do to s-stop it then… ah, I s-suggest you drop the matter…”

I swallowed worriedly, this was the worst relapse Sherlock had had in a very long time. In a desperate attempt to help, I scooted my chair closer and placed a supportive hand on his arm, “It’s okay Sherlock, just close your eyes and breathe…”

Sherlock shook his head desperately and said, short of breath, “No, no I can’t. I have to wait, keep an eye out for anything… hmm…”

He grasped at his head with one hand and clutched with white knuckles to his thigh. I grasped his shoulder tightly spoke to him sternly but calmly, “Sherlock, listen to me. Focus on my voice and tell me what’s going on.”

He breathed a shuddering sigh, “I… I don’t know… it’s just… hhhh, why can’t I think properly?”

“It’s okay Sherlock, don’t panic. You’ve gotten through this before, remember? You’re fine, I think it’s just the adrenalin. Just look at me…”

Sherlock turned to look at me with a fear in his eyes that hadn’t been there for a while. I touched his face delicately and he took a calming breath. His hands were still shaking though, so I took them in mine and squeezed them reassuringly. They stopped shaking so violently but Sherlock still looked pale.

He looked down at our hands, catching a glimpse of his watch. He pulled his hands back and moved away from me, “Lestrade’s late. Where is he?”

Sherlock scanned the street before getting unsteadily to his feet and crossing the road to the bank. I followed close behind, keeping a worried eye on him. As we reached the bank, Lestrade came around the corner and approached us.

“Hey guys, Sherlock are you okay? You don’t look so good…” he said, eyes flicking to me with concern.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock growled back, frustrated, “and you’re late. Are the rest of your force on stand-by?”

“Yeah, they’re in position, waiting for our signal. What exactly are we expecting?” Lestrade asked curiously.

“A robbery,” Sherlock said, as he strode into the bank with what I knew to be false confidence, “an armed robbery at that.”

Lestrade flashed his badge and we headed down to the bank’s vaults…


	20. Chapter 20

As Lestrade’s officers got in place around the door, Sherlock hung back with his mouth set in a firm line. Lestrade opened the door and the officers piled into the vault, leaving us on either side of the door. What we found was a most peculiar sight; three men, one with the most outrageous ginger hair, one was Vincent Spaulding and the other a nondescript plain sort of fellow, all standing with bags of money next to a hole in the floor.

The money was dropped, guns were pointed, shouting echoed in the small vault. I heard a small thud beside me as Sherlock clutched at the wall for support, eyes never leaving the barrel of Spaulding’s gun.

I grabbed his other hand and he squeezed it hard, nodding in answer to the question he knew I was going to ask. As the officers led the three culprits out of the vault in hand cuffs, Lestrade turned to Sherlock, whose colour was slowly returning to his cheeks.

“How the hell did you know they would be tunneling in here tonight?” Greg asked, hands on his hips incredulously.

I let go of Sherlock’s hand hastily as Greg regarded the genius, “Well, um, the Red-Headed League case you gave me? The reason Wilson was contacted was not for his hair but rather his tobacconist shop around the corner. Quite an inventive way to get him off the premises in fact, while Spaulding and his associates tunneled from their basement, under the road to here.”

“Is that why you were jumping up and down a lot when we went to see Spaulding?” I asked, getting Sherlock to relay as many facts as possible in order to put him more at ease.

“Yes, if you listened carefully, the pavement under which they were digging sounded different to the neighbouring slabs, elementary really.”

“Well, thanks again Sherlock, I owe you,” Greg said with a shake of his head, following the officers out of the bank.

Sherlock nodded and strode off, leaving me at the bottom of the stairs. I sighed and shook my head, following him to a cab.

 

The car ride back to Baker Street was silent and tense but I decided to leave Sherlock to his thoughts, allowing him to calm down some more before I broached the unfortunate subject. When we were both back in the flat I decided to take the plunge. I followed Sherlock to the bedroom and leant against the door frame, clearing my throat.

“So, uh, Sherlock? Do you wanna tell me what happened out there?” I asked quietly.

“You know full well what happened and I don’t want to discuss it further,” Sherlock grumbled over his shoulder as he stripped his jacket and shirt.

“Sherlock, we’ve been through this. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

He turned and stormed past me to the bathroom, preparing to clean his teeth, “I’m tired John. Can you just drop it?”

“No, I can’t,” I grabbed his arm and turned him around to face me. “That was a serious relapse, more serious than you’ve had in a long time.” I rubbed my hand up and down his arm, “I’m worried about you, love.”

Sherlock sighed, gazing at me pleadingly, “Please, John. Can we talk tomorrow? I just want to sleep. I don’t feel… normal… I just want you to hold me so I can get some sleep…”

I looked into his exhausted face and gave in, wrapping my arms around him gently and kissing his bare chest, before leading him to bed. We got under the covers and I held him tight, combing my hand though his curls and whispering sweet nothings to him until he fell asleep.

 

I awoke next morning to find Sherlock curled around me like giant cat, his breath tickling my neck where his face was buried. I smiled and nuzzled against his temple, tracing patterns on his back idly until he woke up.

I gazed at him lovingly, taking in every inch of his sleeping form. He stirred slightly and I couldn’t resist kissing his face reverently, everywhere I could reach.

Sherlock grumbled, “Stop that, it tickles.”

I chuckled, pecking the tip of his nose, “But it’s nice to wake up, isn’t it?”

He smiled and a huff of laughter rumbled through his chest, “I suppose you want to talk about last night?”

Holding him closer, I sighed and said quietly, “Way to ruin the moment. But yes, I need to know what happened.”

Sherlock pulled away slightly so he could look at me, but instead of looking me in the eyes, he found a very interesting piece of skin on my chest to examine thoroughly. He started drawing little circles there, between my pecks, as he spoke.

“It was just like you said; the adrenaline was a little too much. I thought I could handle it as soon as I knew what was going on but… it seems I was mistaken. I just freaked out a little bit, that’s all. It wasn’t anything major.”

I nodded, “Okay. As long as you’re sure you are okay now?”

He looked into my eyes now, showing appreciation of my concern, “I’m fine. Just part of the process right?”

I smiled and nodded ruefully. Sherlock snuggled closer once again, looping his leg over mine. He sighed as he began idly kissing the flesh of my bare chest, “I love the way you taste. Kissing never made sense to me before now but with you I can’t imagine anything more right…”

I hummed appreciatively as he continued to press open mouthed kisses over my chest while I caressed every inch of his skin I could find. He found a nipple and kissed it, making me arch off the bed and make a noise of surprise and pleasure.

“Hmm, that’s a pleasant response. You like that?” This time when he kissed, his clever tongue flicked out against my hardening nub.

I gasped, threading my fingers through his hair, “Oh, yes.”

Sherlock stopped suddenly and rested his head against me, sighing cold air over my now sensitised nipple, making it even more erect. I stroked his hair, ignoring the intense sensation, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, “Nothing, it’s just, He made those kinds of noises when He was hurting me…”

“I see…” What could I possibly say in answer to that? Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer anything more.

“John? I want to do more, with you I mean,” Sherlock said quietly. “I don’t really understand it but I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach, like a twisting feeling whenever I see you. It’s exciting, but frightening at the same time. It’s like, I get excited whenever you’re around but scared because of… well everything really.”

I turned onto my side and put some distance between us so I could look at him, “What do you want? From me, I mean. Do you want me to… I dunno…”

The prospect of taking the next step was thrilling, but it made me terrified at the same time. I wanted Sherlock and I had accepted that, but acting on want is a completely different thing.

He took a breath and caressed my cheek, “I trust you. I want more. Give me that.”


	21. Chapter 21

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat and adjusting my position so that I was leaning over Sherlock. I decided to start slow for both our sakes, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips while trailing my fingers down over his chest. He shivered beneath my touch, making he hesitate and stopping me from exploring down any further.

As I moved my kisses down to his jaw, licking the skin and tasting him, a thrill shivered down my spine. I nipped at the pulse point on his beautiful neck, making Sherlock gasp softly. While licking, nipping and kissing his neck and shoulders, I ran my hands over his torso, getting him used to the feel of me and I him.

When I licked at the fading scar around his neck he gasped more loudly this time, muttering in my ear, “You… you feel so different than He did…”

I nuzzled at the crook under his collarbone, “How? Tell me. Tell me what you feel.”

Sherlock’s breath hitched as I straddled his hips, rubbing our lengths together. I continued exploring every inch of his skin with my mouth, hands running gently up and down his sides as he spoke. Cautiously he ran his hands over my back in return.

“Tender, slow, but slow in a good way, not like Him… this is, gentle, considerate… oh!”

I rolled my hips against him and sucked at a nipple. Sherlock arched off the bed, stopping him from speaking. I shuffled down slightly for better access to his navel, his cock rubbing against my stomach. I nuzzled the fine hair that trailed down tantalisingly below his boxers.

“Is this better?” I asked quietly, rubbing my erection against Sherlock’s thigh for some kind of relief. Going slowly was seriously testing my restraint.

He threaded his fingers into my hair, “Yes, God yes.”

I smiled, glad to hear that I was on the right track. I licked and nipped at his beautiful hipbones, making Sherlock wriggle beneath me as his breath became more irregular. I moved to the bulge in his pants, breathing hot air onto it and rubbing my cheek across the fabric clad tip.

Sherlock groaned, rolling his hips towards me in an attempt to find some kind of friction. The musky smell of Sherlock’s cock was intoxicating and frightening. How could this be so arousing? I decided to leave what I was originally planning for another time when I was more confident so I made my way back up Sherlock’s body, lifting his arms up to rest above his head.

I trailed my nails gently up his arms and back down, all the way down his sides to rest at the waistband of his boxers, “More? Are you ready for more?”

Sherlock nodded, biting his lip as though afraid to make any sound. I claimed his lips as I worked his boxers off, letting him kick them to the side. I sat back to remove my own, only to find Sherlock following me as he braced himself onto his elbows. I removed my boxers as Sherlock watched me intently, running a hand over my body to feel my scar on my shoulder.

“You’re so perfect…” he muttered, drinking in the sight of me as though I was a vision.

I huffed a laugh as I threw my boxers aside, “I’m really not. I’m old and broken…”

Sherlock sat up fully, pulling me onto his lap, making me moan as our cocks rubbed together, “That’s precisely why you’re perfect, idiot…”

If I wasn’t already breathless from my exploration of Sherlock’s flesh I certainly was now. The sentiment was such a surprise that I could not convey my feelings any other way than placing a tender, loving kiss to his perfect lips.

It was slow and thorough and when I pulled away, Sherlock was staring at me wide eyed, as though he completely understood what I just told him, without saying a word. I pushed him back down gently, kissing him again but with more rigour.

Sherlock dug into the drawer of his bedside table and handed me a bottle of lube. I shook my head at his eagerness but took the bottle from him nonetheless. Gently, slowly, I started grinding against his naked crotch, creating the most beautiful friction I never thought possible, especially with a man.

Sherlock was moaning and panting beneath me and it was the most amazing sight I had ever seen, completely open without any walls to protect him. I coated a hand in lube and wrapped it around our cocks, making Sherlock arch off the bed. Then, I started to move again.

Soon, we were both a quivering tangle of limbs, hot mouths wherever they could reach and I was whispering Sherlock’s name with every movement, as though to remind myself who I was with.

“John, so close…”

With one final twist of my wrist Sherlock was crying out in pleasure and I was not far behind, riding it out with Sherlock’s name like a prayer on my lips. I collapsed onto Sherlock in a hazy state of sheer contentedness. We lay like that for a while as we caught our breath, a stick mess gluing us together.

After my limbs started functioning again, I rolled of Sherlock, cringing at the mess we made. Sherlock hummed and licked slowly at the warm, sticky liquid on my belly. I chuckled, running my hands through his frankly impressive sex hair.

I cleaned Sherlock up as he continued licking the come off my torso. He hummed again before pressing his lips to mine. I could taste the mingled flavours of us on his tongue; it was so satisfyingly dirty that I wondered why I hadn’t ventured into the realm of men earlier.

Sherlock pulled back and cleaned me up too when I heard him sniff and wipe at his eyes.

I sat up, “Sherlock? Are you okay?”

He nodded and looked at me with a watery smile. I placed a hand against his cheek, “Oh, don’t cry sweetheart. That was perfect, you were perfect.”

“I know, I know it’s just… overwhelming…” Sherlock said quietly, wiping desperately at his eyes as if the tears shamed him, “I’m sorry, that was amazing, you were amazing, I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Sshh,” I kissed his forehead lightly. “I understand, it’s okay.”

He sobbed again before growling angrily, “Why am I crying?”

“Because it’s a lot to deal with after what happened. You haven’t let yourself go in a long time and everything is catching up to you. But it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be sad… just let it out, I’m here for you always,” I pulled him to me and gently eased us back onto the bed, cradling him in my arms.

I let him cry silently into my chest as I held him and stroked his hair, kissing him every so often and reassuring him until his breathing evened out and he slept soundly against me, our bodies intertwined.


	22. Chapter 22

As Sherlock dozed against me, I kept an eye on the time; it was only 9:00AM. I thought that I may go back to the surgery soon; due to Sherlock’s lack of Work lately, I felt responsible for the financial situation. As I was contemplating getting up and calling Sarah at the clinic, Sherlock stirred.

He mumbled something incoherent into my chest as he nuzzled closer. He looked so peaceful when that brilliant brain of his slowed as the haze of sleep covered it. Upon Sherlock’s nuzzling, I smiled and realised I couldn’t leave him here to wake up alone.

I was just settling back into a light doze when I heard pattering footsteps and then a light, tittering knock on our bedroom door. I looked down to make sure Sherlock and I were both decently covered up, enough to not scare our elderly landlady anyway, before telling Mrs Hudson to come in.

As she entered, I put my finger to my lips and nodded to Sherlock’s sleeping form in my arms. She smiled gleefully and pointed excitedly at the lanky body curled up next to me. I nodded with an enduring smile and was about to speak up when Sherlock spoke.

“Mrs Hudson there had better be an extremely good reason for you standing in the doorway of our bedroom gawking at us.” I could feel his deep voice rumble through his chest, making me smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you dears, but Detective Inspector Lestrade is in the living room and I didn’t want him to barge in here and find you in a compromising position,” Mrs Hudson said, giggling to herself as she said the word ‘compromising’.

“Whereas you on the other hand are equipped to cope with such an eventuality,” Sherlock grumbled, rolling onto his back and exposing the fine hair under his left armpit as he threw his arm over his eyes dramatically.

I too rolled over so I was facing Sherlock, running a hand up his exposed left side and resting my chin on his sternum, “Sorry Mrs H, he’s a bit grouchy in the morning if he hasn’t had a shower after…”

“Thank you John,” Sherlock said loudly, covering up the rest of my sentence.

I chuckled, as Mrs Hudson wagged her finger at us, “Now, now, there’s no need to be coy! If you two think I don’t know what happened last night then you are greatly underestimating the volume of your love making!”

“Thank-you Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock growled, throwing his pillow towards the door. “Tell Lestrade we’ll be out in a minute.”

Mrs Hudson picked up the pillow that had landed at her feet, chucking it back to Sherlock, “Alright, don’t be too long.”

She bustled off, closing the door behind her. I laughed and grazed my teeth lazily against his flesh, breathing hot puffs of air onto him so that goose bumps rose on his skin. When neither Sherlock nor I moved, I said noncommittally, “We really should go speak to Lestrade.”

He grumbled at me as he lifted his arm from his face. I smiled and sat up, “Come on.”

I got up and put on some pyjama bottoms before wrapping myself in Sherlock’s dressing gown. Sherlock sat up and looked at me with a raised eyebrow as I made my way towards the door, “You’re going to go out to see Lestrade wearing my dressing gown?”

I shrugged, pulling the Sherlock-scented fabric closer around my shoulders, “Why not?”

“Well coupled with the fact that you are exiting my bedroom and you have nothing on but pyjama pants and said dressing gown, as well as your frankly alarming bed hair…” Sherlock trailed off before smirking. “It’s hardly a difficult deduction, even for Detective Lestrade.”

I tilted my head to the side; he was right of course but I then realised that I didn’t really mind. I opened the door nonetheless.

“Maybe I just don’t care!” I said nonchalantly, walking out the door and into the kitchen where Greg turned towards me.

“Sherlock, I… oh! I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Greg said, his expression shifting from one of surprise to confusion before ending in glee. “I knew it! I knew there was something up with you two!”

“Oh I’m so glad your investigative skills are not entirely non-existent Detective Inspector,” Sherlock drawled as he followed me into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of rumpled trousers, baring his love bites from last night to Lestrade.

“You know, I suspected that something was up when I saw you two last night,” Greg said, moving to lean against the back of my armchair as he took in our appearance. He chuckled at Sherlock’s purpling bite marks, “Looks like you’re a very possessive lover John!”

“Shut up Greg,” I said I put the kettle on, smiling when Sherlock came up from behind and wrapped his arms around me.

“What are you doing here Lestrade?” he asked without pulling back from the embrace.

“Well, I came to check on you actually but I see now that John has that quite under control!” Greg said with a raised eyebrow.

I glared at him, but was secretly joyous inside as I poured tea for all of us, “What makes you think Sherlock needs checking on?”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, nuzzling closer to me, “What he said.”

Greg regarded to two of us with an 'aw-they’re-so-cute' face before sobering, “I’m not completely incompetent no matter how much you call me an idiot, Sherlock. I can tell when you’re hurting. I always have.”

Sherlock stepped away from me, tea in hand, moving to the other side of the kitchen into the furthermost corner away from me and Greg. The inspector stepped forwards and accepted tea from me before regarding Sherlock’s scars warily and asking carefully, “I know something was wrong last night. Should I be worried?”

When Sherlock’s shoulders rounded as he retreated back into the shell he still clings to and sipped his tea quietly, I could see he wasn’t going to answer. So I said, “It was just a small relapse, nothing to be worried about.”

Greg looked doubtful as he watched Sherlock intently, who shrunk back in shame further into the corner of the room, hiding behind his mug of tea. I stepped between the two men, “It’s alright Greg, he’s going really well and things like this are to be expected.”

I turned to Sherlock, who was looking warily at Lestrade, and placed a gentle hand on his arm, “Why don’t you go play something for me, yeah? That always makes you feel better.”

Sherlock nodded hesitantly before disappearing into his room, before emerging with a dressing gown wrapped tightly around him, before crossing to the living room and picking up his violin. As he began to play hesitantly, I beckoned Lestrade over.

We watched Sherlock play in silence before he quietly asked me, “So, how long has this thing between you two been going on?”

“Since I started helping Sherlock get better… months I guess,” I replied, taking a nervous sip of my tea.

Greg nodded and turned to me, “How do you manage it? I mean, he must be twitchy about, well everything after what happened.”

The inspector took a sip of his own beverage as I considered the question, “Well, he did start crying after we had sex last night…”

Greg choked on his tea as I smirked. He coughed quietly before replying, “I suppose that’s only natural, I mean God only knows what he went through…”

I nodded and paused as I considered my next statement carefully, “It is difficult…”

Greg’s brow furrowed and I continued steadily, “Being with Sherlock, it’s difficult. I just, I have to constantly hold myself back around him, you know? I’m always worried that every little touch is going to freak him out and that… being with him could do him more harm than good.”

I sighed, “I dunno, I s’pose I just have to get used to this relationship… it’s all still pretty new, to both of us.”

We watched Sherlock play in silence until he finished. He then turned to us looking more composed. He placed his violin down before asking, “Is there anything else you need Detective Inspector?”

Greg shook his head, “Nothing that cant wait for a bit.”

I smiled appreciatively at him as he took his leave. I smiled at Sherlock before bustling about to make breakfast for us both.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry for the lateness of this update! Senior year is a bitch!  
> Anyway, a really short chapter here cause it was all I could manage over the holidays (I have been so busy its crazy)  
> Sorry for the shortness and lateness again but hopefully there will be more soon!  
> Thanks for your patience :)

As we sat in companionable silence around the table in the kitchen, I was thinking over the idea of going to the surgery.

“John, don’t think so loudly,” Sherlock muttered as he nibbled at a piece of toast, staring intently at me.

“Sorry,” I said. Sherlock continued to look at me before harrumphing and leaving the table to collect his laptop.

“If you want to return to work then you are more than welcome to. I’m sure I can cope on my own for a few hours a day,” Sherlock said, collapsing into his armchair to peruse his website.

I sighed, of course he knew exactly what I was thinking. I stood and walked to my armchair, I didn’t sit down but I gazed at Sherlock, “I don’t know if I want to. I mean, I do but I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

He looked up at me with a fondness in his eyes, “I can cope without you for a few hours three days a week, John. I’m not an invalid.”

Smiling at him, I leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, “I would never think you an invalid.”

As I leaned back, Sherlock tensed up and his face turned a deathly white. His eyes widened and his breathing came in short sharp gasps, “Sherlock? What is it? What’s wrong?”

When he didn’t answer, I perched on the arm of his chair and looked over his shoulder at the screen of his laptop. The message board of his website was open and there was a new message at the top.

'I’ve found you my pet. And I will be coming to reclaim what is mine. Never fear my darling, the party is only just beginning… M'

I couldn’t breathe. Moran. It was Moran, he had found us, crawled out from under whatever disgusting rock he had been hiding under. I knew what I had to do. I whipped out my phone and sent a 999 message to Mycroft and Lestrade, before snapping the laptop shut and throwing both devices on my armchair.

Placing myself in Sherlock’s line of sight, I placed my hands on his shoulders, “Sherlock? Baby look at me, we’re going to be alright okay? Sherlock? Please, love, say something…”

Sherlock started shaking his head slowly, huge eyes becoming watery. I placed a hand on his cheek, “Don’t worry Sherlock, we are going to fix this!”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

His hands were shaking, I covered them with one of mine, snaking the other into his hair and tugging slightly, “Shhh… its okay.”

“It’s not okay John!” Sherlock cried. He stood and crossed to the mantelpiece, running his shaking hands through his hair desperately. His voice wavered and broke as he said, “How could this possibly be okay?”

I covered my mouth with my hand, my heart was breaking. I didn’t know what to do, what to say to make it better. Tears began to run down Sherlock’s cheeks as his breathing became rapid and erratic, leaning unsteadily against the mantle.

I stood and moved next to him, leaving a safe distance between us as he looked so jumpy, “Sherlock, look at me.”

He gazed at me in the mirror and I placed my hand over one of his clammy ones, “We can get through this. I promise I will not let him lay a finger on you while there is breath in my body.”

He started to shake his head again, “No, you don’t understand. I can’t, not again… don’t let him hurt me John, please… oh god, John please…”

Sherlock turned to me, placing his hands on my shoulders for support, his panic taking him over. I pulled him into my arms as he sobbed desperately, muttering nonsensically into my jumper. His knees gave out under him and we sank to the floor as I attempted to calm him.

In the back of my mind, I heard pounding footsteps on the stairs over Sherlock’s anguish. Lestrade burst through the door, Mycroft on his heels looking far less composed than normal.

“John, what is it? What’s going on?” Greg gasped breathlessly, looking between Sherlock and I and Mycroft.

I looked to Mycroft with what must have been a wild look of desperation and horror because he paled and leaned on his umbrella for support, “Moran…”

I nodded and rocked Sherlock gently, trying to calm him down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mycroft turn to Lestrade and talk quietly with him. Greg swore quietly, running a hand over his face in shock.

"Please don't let him hurt me again, John, please. I can't, I can't, I can't," Sherlock mumbled over and over into my shoulder.

I tried my best to soothe him, rocking him, rubbing his back, stroking his hair, shushing him and reassuring him that everything would be alright. But the truth was, I had no idea what we were going to do, if it was really going to be alright. He had been doing so well and everything had been good until that weasel ruined everything...

I looked desperately at Mycroft and Lestrade, who were watching us with sad eyes at Sherlock's distress, "What do we do Mycroft. Tell me, what the fuck can we do?"

Mycroft took a menacing step forwards, mouth drawn into a firm line, eyes blazing at the sight of his little brother, "We hunt him down, that's what. And then we eliminate this piece of filth that is plaguing the world."

I nodded, turning to Sherlock, "You hear that love? We're going to hunt down Sebastian Moran, and when we find him, I'm going to put a bullet between his eyes."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, sorry! I feel terrible for leaving you all hanging but I'm flat out at the moment!  
> Some Mystrade tension thrown in here for the hell of it so enjoy!  
> You are all gods of kudos and comments :)

It took me a while to calm Sherlock, eventually the tears stopped and his breathing returned to normal but he looked exhausted. I coaxed him into his armchair, before perching myself on the armrest. I pushed the curls that had stuck to his forehead away, feeling the clammy moisture on his skin.

I took his pulse at his wrist and surveyed Sherlock’s face; his eyes were dull and unseeing, a horrible homage to when he first came back to me. His face was ashen but his pulse, although still slightly elevated, was returning to normal.

“What exactly happened?” Greg asked quietly, looking warily at Sherlock.

I spared a glance at the other two men standing in the room; Mycroft looked almost as pale as his brother and Lestrade was attempting to regain his investigator's composure.

“Laptop,” was all I could manage, nodding to where it lay discarded on the opposite chair. Greg moved forwards with purpose to seize it, the other Holmes however stayed back hesitantly, blackberry clutched loosely in his hand. I wanted to comfort him, tell him his brother was not going to be ruined by this piece of shit of a man, but I was only just able to tell myself that, let alone voice it aloud.

Nevertheless, I pulled Sherlock’s head to my chest and kissed the damp curls on his head while Greg opened the laptop and reviewed the message Moran had left Sherlock.

“Jesus,” he muttered, before placing it on the desk for Mycroft to see. “I’ll get my guys on it right away, see if we can trace where it came from. Maybe we’ll be able to get a lead.”

“You won’t find anything,” Mycroft said forlornly, “He’s too smart. He won’t have left any trace, he covers his tracks well.”

“We have to try!”

“But you won’t find anything!” Mycroft exclaimed suddenly, all pretence of composure gone. “Why do you think Sherlock spent so much time in captivity, hm? I wasn’t just twiddling my thumbs for a year and a half, I couldn’t find him! Moran left no trace and if my people couldn’t find him then Scotland Yard’s finest certainly won’t be able to.”

“What would you have me do then? Just leave it be until Moran barges straight in here?” Greg fired back.

“Shut up!” Sherlock bellowed.

I pulled away from him slightly, taken aback from his sudden outburst. Sherlock scrubbed his hands through his hair, “Just, please, shut up…”

I glared at Greg and Mycroft for upsetting him while he was in such a fragile state. I draped an arm over Sherlock’s hunched shoulders and stated as calmly as I could, “Boys, where do we go from here?”

Greg and Mycroft exchanged glances just as Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway, saying quietly, “Is this what I think it is?”

I sighed as she moved over to the laptop, before gasping and covering her mouth with her hands. She stood there quietly, tears in her eyes, as Mycroft stepped forwards.

“I will see if I can find out anything from the message. In the meantime, I will coordinate with the Yard in order to place 221B under surveillance and protection.”

“I’ll get some squad cars outside and I’m sure you can get some snipers in neighbouring buildings?” Greg said, turning to Mycroft, who nodded at the suggestion. “Don’t worry, you’ll all be safe, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Sherlock said quietly. “No promises, there will always be consequences, no promises…”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself sobbing. I blinked viciously, I wasn’t going to let Sherlock see me cry, not when he needed me to be strong. So I buried my face in his hair and whispered, “Don’t say that, Sherlock. Please, just don’t…”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my faithful readers! I have a long chapter of smutty goodness for you as you have been so patient lately as I prepare for exams (I am procrastinating right now but meh)  
> Once again, I am new to the smut writing business so I hope this is good. I'm happy with it so I hope you guys enjoy! :)

A few days passed relatively quietly, there were no new threats from Moran and Baker Street was under 24 hour surveillance. On the third night with no updates from Lestrade of the other Holmes about tracing the message, I was sitting in Sherlock’s bed (our bed now) in boxers and a t-shirt, searching the internet for online news with the bedside light switched on beside me.

Sherlock had been stressed out the last couple of days, at first being even more silent and non-responsive than ever and then growling at himself in agitation and pacing the flat like a caged animal. I had decided to give him his space, if he really needed something he would tell me. The last few nights, he had been coming to bed in the small hours of the morning, I would feel the bed dip and he would drape himself over me like an octopus, but tonight, he came and stood in the doorway relatively early.

I assumed he would just move into the bed silently and but he didn’t. He just stood in the doorway. So I looked up from my laptop and was confronted with the sight of Sherlock’s pale body leaning against the doorframe, completely nude.

“Uh, Sherlock?” I said hesitantly, closing my laptop. “What… What are you doing over there?”

He approached the side of the bed slowly and stood in front of me, hands behind his back and looking at me earnestly. Still, he said nothing.

I cocked my head to the side in confusion. As I discarded my laptop on the floor I noticed that his member was at half-mast, “What’s wrong love? What do you need?”

Sherlock sat down on the bed carefully, dilated eyes never wavering from mine. He grabbed one of my hands and placed in forcefully on his chest, splaying out my fingers. Then he said in a small, wavering voice, “Touch me John. I need you to touch me. I feel so numb inside, I have for the last few days and it’s horrible.”

His breath hitched as he pushed my hand over one of his pectorals and making me squeeze it, leaning into the touch. As he rocked forwards into my hand, he whispered in a breathy voice, “Make me feel something…”

I was so shocked that I was completely speechless. He grabbed my other hand and wrapped it vigorously around the back of his neck, before pulling it to run down his side, making him shiver, all the while still rocking into the hand that was groping his peck and nipple.

“Sherlock,” I said quietly, trying to ignore his rising penis, “what’s gotten into you? Are you okay?”

He surged forwards to straddle my hips, moving my roving hand to his back before carding his own through my hair. A breathy moan was his only answer as he bit down just as earnestly on my neck. I gasped and he started rocking again but due to his new vantage point, he was now rubbing our crotches together, making me hum.

Then Sherlock whispered brokenly into my ear, “Make me feel John, please. Make me feel something, be my distraction…”

Alarm bells started going off now in my brain, not that they weren’t before but they were dampened by the fuzzy arousal and desire I was feeling for the man writhing on top of me. I moved a hand to still his hips and moved the other to his face, “Sherlock stop. Tell me what’s wrong so that I can give you what you need.”

Sherlock’s hips stilled but he shook his head, licking a wet stripe up my neck to my ear, “Just need this. Need you. Make me stop thinking.”

“You? Stop thinking? Even sex can’t do that for you,” I joked quietly, rubbing his back gently.

He barked a laugh against my skin which came out sounding more like a desperate sob. I pulled away from him and asked him again what was wrong.

He sighed, playing distractedly with the hem of my undershirt, “It’s just, I don’t know it’s hard to describe. I feel so out of control. I want to solve the case but my brain won’t let me. I keep telling myself it’s just another case but when I start thinking about ways to solve it I just, freeze or something.”

I nod. A situation that is out of his control is hard for Sherlock at the best of times but everything was just more difficult where Moran was involved. But I was still confused about one thing, “Okay, but what made you think that sex would help?”

Sherlock looks at me shyly now and shrugs, a gesture that makes him look far too young and innocent, “Well, last time it made me forget about everything, and the release made my mind go all foggy. It was calming. So maybe it might help get me back on track.”

I smiled, it was so Sherlock. His orgasm was so intense last time that it nearly made him black out so he thought it would reboot his brain this time. I was completely in the mood for trying something new with Sherlock, but I was worried that this was all just stress, that maybe he wasn’t ready.

“Sherlock, I’m more than willing to have sex with you, but perhaps we should take it slower, considering we’ve both been under a lot of strain these last few days.”

Sherlock looked away and considered something for a moment before nodding, “Okay. I don’t know what came over me just then. I just, wanted… something, wanted you. Like this burning in my belly…”

I chuckled this time, “That’s called being horny.”

Sherlock looked back at me suspiciously, “It was odd. Like it wasn’t me who was controlling my limbs… but it was nice…”

I smirked and started thrusting gently up into Sherlock where he was resting in my lap, “It was nice, I wasn’t complaining, I kind of like you horny, you were all controlling and it was very hot.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he started rocking in my lap, but it was slower this time, less confidant. Soon he started thrusting a bit harder in my lap, feeling bolder and sneaking his hands up under my shirt. I lifted my arms up so he could divest me of the garment as we dry humped like teenagers.

I rolled Sherlock over gently and kissed him hungrily on those gorgeous lips of his as I shimmied out of my boxers. Sherlock reached down and wrapped a loose hand experimentally around my cock. I gasped and began to thrust slowly into Sherlock’s fist as I moved my kisses slowly down his body until his hand couldn’t reach my crotch anymore and I was kissing along his hipbones.

This was a dangerous area to be with Sherlock as I had discovered previously so I didn’t spend too much time there, moving further down instead to graze my teeth along his pale thighs, purposefully avoiding the one area which wanted attention. His beautiful cock was straining against his belly and started leaking little beads of pre-come as I rolled his testicles between my fingers.

Sherlock started mumbling and moaning as ran my other hand over his thighs and moved a finger behind his balls to massage his perineum. When I did this, Sherlock bucked and groaned so loudly that I kept doing it until I found his prostate from the outside, massaging it with a finger whilst still teasing his balls with my thumb and forefinger.

The first time I found his prostate, Sherlock bucked again, this time even more wildly and practically squealed. I kept stimulating this area, but more gently as I brought my other hand to grip the base of cock. This was it. I was going to suck cock for the first time in my life. The heady smell of Sherlock was intoxicating, just like the last time I was this close to him. There were butterflies in my belly but my mouth watered, overpowering my nerves as I placed a small kiss to the head, tasting his come.

Sherlock fell completely silent as I started lapping up the fluid from his slit, dipping my tongue in and out. I glanced up at Sherlock to see him gaping at me wide eyed. I pulled away slightly, squeezing the base of his cock and massaging his balls and prostate slightly harder.

“You okay?” I gasped, blowing air over the hot crown of his frankly gorgeous penis.

He didn’t say anything. It was as though he was completely taken over by sensation that he had no words so he just nodded vigorously, grinding down slightly onto my massaging fingers, eyes wide with wonder.

I smiled and felt slightly proud that I had this effect on him. I kissed and licked at the head some more, occasionally looking up to tell Sherlock to resume breathing, to which he would reply his usual “breathing is boring” line, but did as I said in order for me to resume.

Then I grew bolder from the flavour of Sherlock that I just couldn’t hold out any longer and took Sherlock fully into my mouth, as far as I could. I think if I hadn’t been squeezing the base of his cock still that he would have come just from that one mouthful as Sherlock practically screamed and bucked up into my mouth. I almost gagged as the head hit the back of my throat, but restrained, wanting to make this perfect for this impossible man.

I licked experimentally all around the shaft as Sherlock became a quivering, moaning mess beneath me, until I found the vein underneath. I remember liking it when girls had done it to me so I started to pull off slowly, dragging my tongue against the vein as I went. Sherlock started panting my name like a mantra as I started bobbing up and down, taking his cock deeper with every thrust and rubbing my own cock against the bed for some kind of friction. He was so hard inside my mouth, I hadn’t noticed before but his cock had a pleasant curve to it that made it fit in my throat deliciously.

I began massaging his perineum harder and harder, in time with my bobbing head, trying to hit his prostate every time until Sherlock was thrusting down onto my fingers and then into my mouth, fingers then mouth in an ever quickening rhythm.

“Need to, need to… come…” Sherlock gasped and I let go of my grasp around the base of his cock as I pulled my mouth off until the hear was the only part in my mouth. I wanted to taste him fully so when he came explosively down my throat with a scream, back arching off the bed, I swallowed down as much as I could. I milked him through the aftershocks as he panted my name, sill moaning as I swallowed his seed.

I was surprised at the taste but found it enjoyable in all its bitter, Sherlockness as I let his softening member drop from my lips. Some of the come that I didn’t manage to swallow trickled down my chin but I could find it in me to care, I just needed to attend to my painfully throbbing cock. I collapsed on my back, letting my head flop against Sherlock’s sweaty chest as I gripped my erection desperately, searching for release.

Sherlock stirred behind me and replace my hand with his own before licking the stripe of his own come off my chin and tasting himself. He kissed me mercilessly on the lips, tongue diving into my mouth and fucking it in time with his strokes, under these ministrations I didn’t last long and was coming all over Sherlock’s pale hand.

We both slumped, completely spent and panting. Sherlock placed a delicate kiss to my lips before wrapping us up in the sheets that were tangled around my ankles. I think both of us felt the most rested we have ever felt in a while as sleep claimed me the instant Sherlock’s warm arms were around me, sticky stomach be damned.


End file.
